


Of Fathers and Angels

by lunaverserocks



Series: Stolen Lights that Shine so Bright [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Bail Organa Needs Help, Burgeoning Bromance?, Child Leia Organa, Complete, Convenient, Dark Leia Organa, Force-Sensitive Leia Organa, Jedi Leia Organa, Kidnapping, Leia Organa Deserves Better, Leia Organa Needs a Hug, POV Darth Vader, Parent Darth Vader, Protective Anakin Skywalker, Space Wizard Powers, Teamwork makes the dream work, That's Not How The Force Works, The Double Dad Fic You Didn't Know You Needed, and frustrating, or wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaverserocks/pseuds/lunaverserocks
Summary: Six-year old Leia is kidnapped and Bail Organa has exhausted his Imperial contacts. All...except one. But when he begs for Sith Lord Darth Vader's assistance, is he unwittingly putting his life—and Leia's—in more danger?In other words, what would two fathers do to rescue all they hold dear?
Relationships: Bail Organa & Leia Organa, Leia Organa & Anakin Skywalker, Leia Organa & Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Stolen Lights that Shine so Bright [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722862
Comments: 187
Kudos: 465





	1. Bail Asks for Help

**Author's Note:**

> Do you remember the other day when I said I was going through a bit of writer's block? Well, it didn't mean I wasn't writing. :P

_“Daddy!”_

A little girl was screaming. Her face was smothered with dirt, bruises, and tears, and her bloodied hands clenched as she hit, punched, and kicked—mercilessly _beat_ —whoever and whatever crossed her path.

But there were too many of them. Too many to count. Too many to fight.

And she was so small…

“ _Daddy!”_

Her cries grew more pained and frustrated. More emotional and chaotic. And her terror grew and grew as a body flew backward.

There was a startled, _“Oomph._ ” Then a few muffled swears before somebody clambered over her, grabbed her wrists, and held her down.

Then a scream, shrill and piercing. Then somewhere, _somehow,_ glass shattered. Earth quaked.

More curses, then a thud _—_ the sound of a punch.

She retched and moaned, then growled, snarled, and somehow got to her feet to hurl another round of desperate punches and kicks. Her attack prompted a few more slurred swears _(“Put the bitch down!” “Kriffing **kill** her!” “End her!” “Get the collar! Get it **now**!!”), _and she flailed as a pair of hands—large, scabby, and purple—found their way to her throat. They squeezed—hard, so hard—until something tightened painfully against her skin, pinching tender, pink flesh.

She gasped and gaped, because there was suddenly nothing. And she sobbed at the feeling. Sobbed at the disconnect.

Then tried once more, this time with every sense weakened. Crippled. Unable to feel. Unable to see.

She tried to kick—tried to hit—but somebody pushed her down and laughed. Cackled.

Another swipe—

Then somebody hit back.

She fell onto the steel floor—head smashing against metal—and twisted into herself. She cried into the ground, then into her hands, and curled tighter and tighter as sobs racked her back.

When her tears dried up and the chortling sound of her assailant’s success drifted away, she whispered, “ _Daddy…”_

She closed her eyes—brown eyes—and pushed back her hair—brown hair.

_“Daddy…”_

* * *

**XoXoX**

* * *

Vader stirred and snarled into the darkness of his meditative chamber. He scrunched his prosthetic hands against his knees, and wished it would help—wished _anything_ would help—but found it wasn’t enough. He picked up a fistful of tools, hurled them at the wall, and dented steel. But it _still_ wasn’t enough.

He took an unassisted breath.

Then another.

He blinked and frowned, then put his head in his hands and squeezed marred flesh between his robotic fingers.

A sigh.

It'd been the…third day.

The third straight day he'd dreamt about that girl. The third straight day, and he _still_ didn’t know what it meant nor who she was nor why he kept _seeing_ her, _thinking_ about her. Hearing her cries, seeing her eyes, feeling her terror, and listening to the desperate sound of her voice as she called for her father—calls that went _annoyingly_ unanswered.

He couldn’t figure out who she was nor why the Force decided to keep showing him her fate. And he’d performed every meditative technique he knew to figure out _why_ he couldn’t banish her from his mind’s eye.

He’d mindlessly fixed _everything_ he could get his hands on, built a droid from _scratch,_ went through a variety of katas both familiar and foreign, and sat stock-still for hours on end, eyes closed, feeling— _reaching—_ for answers as only he knew how.

But still, nothing helped.

He still saw her tear-filled, brown eyes. Still heard her anxious cries. Still felt each blow as it assaulted her chest, stomach, limbs, and head. Still heard her whispered pleads— _“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”_ —until he couldn’t stand the sound of her whimpering voice echoing in his head.

He threw a wrench, then caught it with the Force. He took a breath—then another—and dropped the tool.

_Clang!_

He stared at it. Resented it. Loathed its thoughtless existence.

Then he heard it.

“No! _No_! Let me through. _Let me through_! I need to talk to him. I need to— _oomph!”_

Pain rippled through the Force, and Vader turned, intrigued. He felt energy swirl and congeal into another punch, heard another, “ _Oomph,”_ and felt somebody lurch involuntarily forward and gasp. Gag.

Then it began again—the shouting, the assault. But this time, it was more garbled, more frantic. Farther away.

“Please, you don’t understand! I need to see him! He needs to know— _needs to know_. I— I need his help!”

Another blow. Another anguished cry. Then somebody collapsed onto their knees, coughing and sputtering.

But still pleading. Still begging.

“Please. _Please_. You don’t— You don’t understand. He needs to know— He needs to help. _Oomph—hssss_!”

Vader’s helmet descended and clicked into place. He stood from his chamber and strode to the door. He opened it—

And stared at sheer madness.

A furl of colorful robes, a flash of white, a tanned fist, an armored foot. A blaster. Then two.

A struggle; a violent one.

And it all stopped in an instant.

“Lord Vader!” There was a strangled breath as a man lurched forward. He tore himself from the uniformed trooper’s grasp and straightened his royal blue overcoat with a wince. Then peered at his bruised hand, hissed, and regarded the Sith Lord. “Lord Vader,” he said, almost snarling as one guard cuffed his left wrist. “Please— _please._ I need your help.”

Vader paused, then glared.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting— _who_ he’d been expecting—causing such a ruckus outside his chambers, but he certainly wasn’t expecting…him.

“Viceroy Organa.”

Bail Organa took a breath, held it, then expelled it. “Tell them to release me,” he said in a rushed murmur, glancing at the guards.

Vader waved, and one of the troopers brandished a key; he let the diplomat go. And after another wave, the pair departed entirely, without a single complaint between them.

“Most people try to avoid my company,” Vader said when his hand-picked guards rounded the nearest corner. “Yet here you are, trying to earn it.”

He stepped forward and examined Alderaan’s esteemed viceroy, then frowned when he noticed the diplomat’s trembling, watery-eyed gaze and disheveled clothes; scowled when he saw the man’s unshaven face and greasy, unkempt hair; and glared when he saw Organa’s forehead contort unpleasantly into a map of wrinkles that seemed to grow deeper and more pronounced the longer he stood stick-straight.

Then there was the…smell.

The scent of perspiration, dirt, rotting food, and unwashed teeth. It was a putrid aroma strong enough to rival the poorest sectors of Coruscant’s bustling cityscape. A foul smell riper than a bantha’s pen. And Vader stifled a gag as his suit’s respirator struggled to filter it.

There was a simple explanation: Bail Organa hadn’t slept. Or eaten. Or bathed or changed his attire or done anything other than grow more haggard as time passed. Wallowing over something. Staggering through the turmoil of life without thinking about his personal hygiene. Or care.

And he’d done so for a few days.

Quite a few.

“With good reason,” Bail said. He ran a hand through his oily hair and slicked it back. Then he stepped forward and sighed. “My daughter—Princess Leia—” He paused, considered, then nodded. “She was…kidnapped—stolen from her bed—three nights ago. And—”

Bail continued jabbering nonsense, and Vader scowled.

It could’ve been a coincidence; a cruel, unusual coincidence. But he doubted it. There was too much glaring at him, too many similarities.

Three consecutive days envisioning a little girl; seeing her tear-stained eyes, feeling her pain, and listening to her scream for her father. And now Bail’s princess— _Princess Leia_ —kidnapped three nights ago from her bedroom.

Was the child in his vision and Bail’s missing daughter one in the same? Could he have been dreaming about this _Princess Leia’s_ kidnapping?

The Force whispered— _yes, yes—_ and Vader’s scowl lengthened.

Why should he care about one missing child? Why was the Force adamantly pushing this insignificant burden on him when he should’ve been spending his valuable time performing other tasks?

He silently questioned the disembodied whispers, but as quick as they came, they stopped. The Force was steadfastly silent, leaving him with nothing.

He’d have to question it again…later.

So Vader rounded back to the physical man, back to the politician trembling less than five feet away. “Why should I care?”

Bail looked down. Looked anywhere other than at _him,_ the Sith Lord, the man he'd sought with a desperate fervor, and stammered, “Be-because she's a six-year old little girl and sh-she’s scared and alone. And because she’s—” He stopped and looked up. He caught Vader’s gaze from behind the protection of his mask. “—the child of a mutual friend.”

Was this a twisted game?

Vader clenched his fists. And even though Organa couldn’t see it, he made sure the diplomat felt the impact of his seething, yellow-tinted glower. “I have no friends.”

Bail trembled and slouched, then stepped forward. Tripped, more like. “B-but you did. Back be-before. Back when you w-were—”

_No._

Vader blinked and pitched forward.

Nobody was supposed to know. Nobody was supposed to _remember._

“ _Don’t_ ,” he snarled, towering over the Alderaanian Senator.

But Bail continued. “—Anakin Skywa— _ack!”_

Bail's dirtied hands clutched his tanned throat. He tried to pry at the invisible entity slowing choking, slowly gagging, but his efforts proved futile. There was nothing to fight—nothing to grasp. It was just energy—just the Force influenced by Vader’s will—clenching his windpipe. Compelling him to sputter and cough and gag and shake while the darkness crept closer and closer to his skin.

Bail managed to steal a breath, and Vader clasped harder.

_“Ack! Aaaaack!”_

Vader watched Bail struggle, and a sick satisfaction poured through him. He suddenly wanted Organa quiet. Suddenly wanted to render him silent, forever and all eternity.

Because nobody was supposed to know who he was—who he'd been.

Before.

Before the suit and armor. Before the mask and respirator.

Nobody was supposed to know. _Nobody was supposed to know._ But still— _somehow_ —Bail Organa did.

And it would be his undoing.

Bail would pay the ultimate price for his knowledge—and his misstep. He would pay handsomely and without question or retaliation. Because Vader had made a decision long ago. Long, long ago, that anybody who knew—who could’ve _guessed_ his affiliation to that silly, _weak_ boy—would meet a grim fate. They’d be killed or maimed beyond repair. Murdered in cold blood. Sacrificed to the darkness within.

 _Everybody_ , no matter their past connection.

Everybody…except the Emperor, of course.

And those occasional beings who evaded his relentless search. Those _beings_ he'd once considered _friends—_ creatures who’d managed to escape his simmering wrath as they scurried into hiding to avoid capture or death after the Republic fell.

And, apparently, Bail Organa. Who did not have a Jedi’s skill or wit. And who would not be granted a swift or honorable death like so many before him.

“ _Hut-ssss.”_

Bail’s face turned blue and his gasps grew more frantic. He heaved and retched, and Vader found his grasp slipping.

Because… _why_?

Bail had to have known—had to have learned about his cohorts’ untimely demises. And he'd hidden his knowledge away for six brutal years, living with a secret he could never discuss—could never use.

So why was he exposing himself now, begging for certain death?

And how did he know? Who told him?

The Force reappeared, answering in a fit of whispers, and Vader swiped—reached for the reply—but it flitted away before he could hear, and he reluctantly released his grip on the viceroy’s throat.

Bail collapsed onto his knees and took a life-saving breath. And when he finally filled his lungs, he careened backward, pressed his back against the wall, and looked up. His face was an easily-readable mask of pure terror and exhaustion.

He shielded himself with his hands.

“Wait. Wait,” he begged. “You don’t understand. If you’d just _listen,_ I’ll explain. I’ll tell you…everything. Just— Just let me explain. Leia,” he gasped, “Leia’s adopted, and she’s—”

“ _I don’t **care** about the girl!_” Vader snarled.

Truly, he didn’t. Even though the Force kept pestering his psyche with her fate, she meant nothing to him. And if she was, indeed, Bail Organa’s spawn (adopted or not), she had his permission to die at any time, if only so he could salvage a few hours of much-needed rest.

Damn the girl. He only cared about the past. Only cared about _how_ Bail knew about his connection to that _boy._

So he hunched, pointed, and roared as much as his vocalizer allowed. “ _How?_ How could you possibly know about _Skywalker_? _Who told you?_ ”

“But Leia— She’s…she’s—”

_“Skywalker. Tell me about Skywalker.”_

Bail winced. “Just…just— _ack!”_ His eyes popped as his body lifted into the air against his will. He gasped, wheezed, then nodded.

Vader let him go again. “The boy," he said. "And make it quick. I’m losing what little patience I have.”

Bail coughed, cupped the wall, and whimpered, “Obi-Wan Kenobi told me—told _us_ —before he vanished.”

“ _Us_?”

“Master Yoda—”

Bail grasped his throat again. He panted, but noticed that the invisible entity squeezing his esophagus wasn’t nearly as strong as before. Though, the pressure was still there—was still a threat. A solid reminder that Vader was willing and able to end his life at a moment’s notice.

“You’re still able to talk, correct?”

Bail’s words came out strangled. “Y-yes.”

“Then do so. _Quickly.”_

Bail blinked and tears poured out of his bloodshot eyes. “Obi-Wan— He told us about you, what you’d done to the younglings and the Trade Federation heads. About your fall to the Dark Side—how you became a Sith. Then about what you’d done to Pad— _Ack_ _!”_ He wheezed.

“Do _not_ say her name.”

Bail whimpered and nodded. “T-to her, then. What you’d done to _her_.” A sniffle. “And she was so weak, Lord Vader. So weak and fragile and—”

“Stop.”

“ _—heartbroken.”_

The walls shook. _“Stop!_ ”

Bail’s mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t pry his teeth apart, couldn’t move his jaw in the slightest, and he looked, horrified, as Vader lumbered closer.

Vader’s gloved hand arced wide. “You have no right. She’s dead and buried. Long gone.” He turned away and whispered, “I _killed_ her.”

Bail’s face morphed into utter confusion. He fought against the invisible entity holding him still and sputtered, “Y-you didn’t— You couldn’t have… I-I was there, Lord Vader. I was there when she—” Fresh tears prickled his eyes. “I was there when she died.”

“That’s a _lie_ ,” Vader said, glowering. “She died on Mustafar. By _my_ hand.”

“That— Th-that’s not true!” Bail gasped, and the hold on his throat lessened. “That’s not true at all.” He took a breath. “She left Mustafar with Obi-Wan. She was unconscious at the time, but very much alive.”

“…What?” Vader suddenly increased the strength of his hold and snarled, “ _Then what happened to her? WHERE IS SHE?”_

Bail choked and stuttered. “Sh-she died in childbirth—died sh-shortly after her child was born.”

Surprise and shock quivered through Vader’s mind. His hold lessened and his voice grew pained, but his vocalizer didn’t betray him. Though, there was still a pause. “Her…child?”

“Th-that’s why I’m here! It’s— _her_ child—it’s _Leia_!”

It…couldn’t be. No— _no_! The Emperor'd said— He’d said—

The invisible hold increased tenfold. “ _Liar._ Padmé couldn’t have given birth. The Emperor checked her personally. He couldn’t save her. And he couldn’t save our child.” A breath. “They both died on Mustafar.”

“I’m telling the truth. The truth! All of it. All of it! Obi-Wan brought her to Polis Massa, and the medical droids—the medical droids! They didn’t know why, Lord Vader—th-they couldn’t explain it,” Bail said as more tears streamed down his face. “But she was alive to deliver the baby. And then…she wasn’t.”

“ _Liar.”_

“No! _No!”_ Bail screeched as invisible fingers clenched. Tight—too tight. He pointed at his head. “Just look— _Look_ _!_ ”

Vader’s hand surged up. He probed Bail’s mind—dug through memories and secrets—and stopped when he found the right one.

He listened to the wails. Listened to the voices.

His beloved’s anguished shriek—“ _Ahh! AHHHHH!”_ The cries of an infant as it pulled in its first few breaths. The voice of his old master, “ _It’s a girl.”_ And finally, his angel, breathless and weak—

“ _Leia.”_

Vader staggered backward. “Why…? _How_ …?”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Bail said as he wiped his tear-sodden eyes and cheeks with a dirtied sleeve. “You were never supposed to find out.” He whimpered. “But Leia’s gone, and nobody’s willing to help me. And I don’t know if it’s because of me or if—” He gulped. “Or if somebody found out about _you_ —”

“Me?”

“—and took her to get revenge—”

The walls shook again. “ _Me?”_

Bail let out a shaky breath. “She’s yours, Lord Vader. Biologically, Leia’s _yours.”_

The walls cracked. Then crumbled.

Vader took a helpless step backward. He reached for a wall—reached for a stable surface—then collapsed onto his knees when he couldn’t find the support he desperately sought.

The girl he kept seeing, the girl who kept crying for her father. She was…she was…

“Our child—” He couldn’t believe it. “—is alive?”

Bail let out a garbled sob. “Hopefully.”

Vader looked up and clenched his fists.

Leia’d been calling for her father—calling for _him—_ whether she knew it or not _._ And unlike the people before her—unlike Padmé or Shmi or the hundreds of people he'd lost during the Clone Wars—he wouldn’t let her down. Couldn’t let her suffer or die.

 _“_ She’s missing,” Vader said, seeking confirmation. “Stolen from her bed.”

Bail rubbed a bloodshot eye and nodded.

Vader’s anger radiated through the air in thick waves. It poured and curled unpleasantly between stagnant molecules, penetrating everything and anything with bloodthirsty, self-abhorring rage. Because he’d spent all that time trying to ignore those cries, all that time trying to expel the sound of her voice from his mind. And she’d been calling for him—begging for his help.

Like Padmé. Like his mother.

And he’d ignored her.

Ignored his child. His _daughter._

A girl he knew nothing about. A girl stolen from _him_ , first. And that thought enraged him; it made his disfigured skin tingle unpleasantly beneath his life-supporting suit.

“You kept her from me.” Vader stood—loomed—then shouted, _“Why would you do that?!”_

Bail’s response was simple and soft. He trembled as the walls around him shivered and dissolved. “To protect her.” He looked away as more tears streamed down his face. “You— You must understand. We only did it to protect her.”

Vader’s respirator couldn’t keep up with his gaping breaths. “From who? Protect her from who?”

“From you. From the Emperor. From anybody who wanted to use her.”

What?

“ _Use her?”_

“Lord Vader.” Pink, tear-drenched eyes softened, asking for understanding and consideration. “If the Emperor found out she was alive, he would’ve killed her. Or imprisoned her. Or-or used her against you.”

_No._

“He wouldn’t have done that—couldn’t have. I would’ve made sure. I would’ve—”

“How?” Bail asked. “When?” He paused to bite his lower lip. “How could you offer the protection she needed when you were tearing apart the Outer Rim? When could you have given her the love and support she desired while you were busy slicing Rebels in two?”

For the first time in a long while, Vader found himself fumbling. “I could’ve— I could’ve—”

“You could’ve _what_? Slung a defenseless baby across your chest as you attacked suspected enemies? Bottle-fed a helpless infant as you interrogated members of the Senate?”

“I could’ve— I could’ve—”

Bail looked into his mask and saw the slightest tinge of yellow through the darkened visor. “If you would’ve kept her, she would’ve become another one of the Emperor’s slaves.”

Vader’s stuttering ceased as he strode forward. “No. _No!_ She wouldn’t’ve succumbed to that. I would’ve stopped it. I would’ve ended it—ended _him—_ before she befell the same fate as…as…”

“You?”

The hallway grew eerily quiet. Even the sound of his respirator dimmed. “I would’ve protected her. I would’ve been _there_ for her.”

Bail’s face contorted and he took a hesitant step forward. “Then be there for her _now,_ Lord Vader. Help her _now._ ”

Vader’s fists tightened, and Bail took a reflexive step back.

“She was kidnapped three days ago.”

It wasn’t a question, but Bail nodded, nonetheless. “Yes.”

Vader took a step and wrung his hands together. “Then I’ll find the scum who took her.” He grabbed Bail’s right forearm and squeezed. “I’ll find them. And I’ll end them.”

Relief flooded Bail’s face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you.”

“But before I can do that,” Vader said, tone mercilessly dark, “you need to tell me _everything._ No matter how insignificant it might seem.”

Bail nodded, bit his lower lip, and looked away. “It might be easier to show you.”


	2. Locating Leia

Stars blurred across the shuttle’s dash, and Vader willed the ship to go faster, faster, faster. He was already pushing the cruiser to its limits, but he wanted _more._

_Faster. Faster._

Bail whimpered, and Vader stole a glance.

The man finally looked…presentable. He’d sacrificed the first five minutes of their voyage to wash his face and hair. He’d combed and shaved and changed his clothes, and the smell that had been lingering since they’d boarded was finally dissipating. But his face was still gaunt. And the wrinkles across his forehead continued to grow, and his eyes remained bloodshot and leaking. His lips had turned deep crimson, then strangely blue, and they were quivering.

And he was _twitching._

Vader glared; he felt no remorse. Felt nothing other than a deep-seated, steadily-building rage toward the man in the copilot’s chair.

Because, regardless of how Bail saw it, none of this would’ve happened had Leia been entrusted to him from the beginning. Had Vader known about her existence from birth.

Because he would’ve taken every step necessary to make sure she was protected. Cared for, nurtured.

_Loved._

Because it was his duty. His responsibility. And those feelings didn’t come from that weak and pathetic _boy_ whose physical form he happened to occupy. No, they came from an obligation to _her._ His dearest angel. _Padmé…_

It was the least he could do—give his deceased wife a guarantee that her child would be safe and well and given all of the opportunities life could bestow. He owed her that much. And would’ve loved to have given her more, but…

She was gone.

Vader shifted a calculation and shaved off two minutes from their journey. It didn’t seem like much, but every second saved was worth it. Every minute salvaged was one more instant closer to her—to that screaming little girl in his visions. To that girl who was hitting and kicking— _fighting for her life_ —no matter how much she was pummeled or beaten. To that little girl who had continuously wailed for her father. For him.

_For him…_

_Leia._

Vader clenched the controls.

He would save her from her captors. He’d mercilessly maim anyone who stood in his way. He’d slice, choke, impale, beat, _destroy_ whatever and whoever stood in his path. Because he wanted to see his daughter with his own eyes. Wanted to see her brown irises and curly locks when they were neat and unblemished. Wanted to see her smile—not cry—and grow into a beautiful young woman. He wanted to give her a future; she could choose an occupation or a hobby—whatever she wanted, as long as she was happy. He’d bless her with a long and prosperous life, something stolen from her birth mother—and stolen from her birth father.

Because he owed _her_ , too. For his absence. For his ignorance. And he’d do whatever he could to repay his debt, no matter how long it took.

Vader scratched out another calculation and readjusted his course. Again. It would save them mere seconds, but he found the task worthwhile.

Bail noticed and cleared his throat. “Alderaan is usually peaceful,” he whispered, frowning as he scanned the navicomputer’s readout—still a good hour away. “But ever since Leia was kidnapped, it’s been…chaotic.”

Vader said nothing. Frankly, he didn’t want to talk to the viceroy. He would’ve killed him back on Coruscant had he not been valuable—filled with information about Leia’s kidnapping and already given Alderaan’s highest security clearances as their galactic senator and Queen Breha’s spouse. And the man was treading a fine line, one he could find himself teetering over dangerously soon if Vader’s temper continued to escalate.

Yet, the man continued, unbeknownst to the silent longing for his immediate decapitation.

“My people aren’t used to such violence. Especially on a child.” Bail paused and nibbled his destroyed bottom lip. The bite broke open delicate flesh and he grimaced when fresh blood filled the cracks. “Even more so on a _royal_ child.”

Bail sighed.

“It…it hasn’t been easy. Most of the planet doesn’t know, and the palace staff has been sworn into silence, but they aren’t used to such secrecy, and I’m sure the truth will get out eventually. And I don’t know what we’ll do when the rumors finally do—”

“Tell me about the girl.”

Bail blinked at the interruption and took another breath. “About Leia?”

Vader had no times for games. Or stupid questions. If he was asking about a girl, of course he meant Padmé’s child— _his_ child. “Unless _she_ has another youngling out there,” he said as Bail’s face paled, “I’m asking about Leia.”

“Ah. Well, um.” Bail faltered until color returned to his cheeks. “What would you like to know?”

Vader thought.

Her favorite foods and colors. Her interests and hobbies. What she liked to do in her spare time. There were so many unique questions to ask—did she repair droids? Did she enjoy the ups and downs of political quandaries? Did she speak with purpose and poise? Was she shy or outgoing? Did she have her mother’s heartwarming smile or her father’s ambition? Did she play? Have friends? Was she doted on and cherished? Did she love anything with an ache she couldn’t explain?—and he had no idea which to pick.

“Everything,” he finally whispered. “I want to know…everything.”

Bail sadly smiled and filled the remainder of their journey with a one-sided conversation about his adoptive daughter. He spoke of Leia’s friends and droids, C-3PO and R2-D2 (Vader’d often wondered what became of them and was secretly delighted that they’d managed to stay alongside his daughter as lifelong companions) and her ever-growing list of hobbies. He mentioned Leia’s fondness for politics and her drive for the greater good. He said that she was _just like her mother_ and had her _father’s reckless attitude,_ and that she was growing into a delightful young woman. She was intelligent, talented, kind, and dutiful. She also had an uncanny knack for sifting through deceit; she could swim through a sea of lies and resurface with the truth—and use it to her advantage, no matter if it was good or bad or somewhere in between.

“She’ll be an excellent queen,” Bail concluded as he stared at the stars; they morphed from blurs to pinpricks, dotting the transparent durasteel windshield with teeny blinks. “Alderaan would be blessed under her rule.”

Vader had no doubt.

With the way Bail had described her, Leia would make a fine queen. She sounded like she had the right composure and skill. And she already had an impressive number of accomplishments under her belt.

And if her biological mother could’ve seen her—or heard even a little bit of what Bail had said—she would’ve been proud. She would’ve doted and smiled and whispered encouraging praise to bolster her daughter’s drive…

But her mother was…gone.

And…so was Leia.

The ship rocked as it entered Alderaan’s atmosphere. It quaked and jittered and eventually leveled out, and Bail heaved another deep sigh when they finally landed in the palace’s private hangar. The ramp descended and they disembarked together, weaving through the royal family’s curious staff and guards until they made it to the turbolift. They shot straight through the palace and exited on the floor with the royal family’s private apartments. And from there, they rushed to Leia’s bedroom, which was the last place she’d been seen.

The door whooshed open, and Vader stared at his daughter’s bedroom as he walked inside.

It was beautifully and tactfully decorated. A few antique oil-paintings lined the walls, each one a beautiful scenic snapshot laden with blues and greens, pinks and purples, yellows and oranges. A bed sat in the middle of the room, topped with a feather-cushioned white duvet, touchably soft and welcoming. There were a few bookcases along the far wall, each filled with datapads on subjects ranging from remedial schoolwork and basic etiquette to advanced political philosophy. There were also a few dressers nearby, neatly closed and probably organized to the hilt. And on top of those, a sparse few personal touches: a silver-handled hairbrush with a few tangled strands of curly hair, a flickering holo of the Organa family, a few scraps of paper, some scribbled with schoolwork, others depicting crayon drawings of a golden-plated protocol droid and a blue-hued astromech…

Everything was beautiful and lovely. Befit a young princess.

Except the pieces that weren’t.

Broken veranda doors. An overturned chair. A datapad splintered into a thousand metallic shards across the floor. Blaster scuffs on the walls—not a lethal black, but dark, oblong stains that suggested a stun calibration. And finally, an enormous crater at the end of the room, where a partially-destroyed rug dangled lifelessly over the ledge, ripped to shreds.

Vader stood at the edge of the chasm and looked down. Steel footers were splintered or bent, exploded from above and curved down from a blast. He inspected further and discovered that the room below looked largely untouched, albeit coated in rubble and dust. There was a dirty footprint there and another one there, but not much else to go on.

Vader stewed. And stared.

The crater was…odd. There weren’t any dark scuffs that indicated an explosion, and there was no discernible reason to have used an explosive in the first place—Leia was a _child_ no older than six, she couldn’t have been difficult to capture, even for the most inept kidnapper.

And for some reason, the Force decided to rear its unhelpful head. It whispered, and Vader reached, but it flitted away and disappeared as quick as it came. It left Vader silently fuming, mood growing darker and darker the longer he looked at the strange pit.

Bail eventually joined him, shuffling his feet as he neared. “It’s terrifying to look at,” he said, eyeing the room below. “When we first saw it, we thought Leia had been immediately obliterated in the blast. But there’s no blood or sign of a body.”

“It seems wholly unnecessary,” Vader said as he kicked a piece of rubble into the pit.

Bail nodded and stepped away. He didn’t stop looking down, though. “We scanned it, and we don’t know what caused it or _why_ it’s there, but whatever the kidnappers used had to have been powerful. And unique.”

“Very.”

Vader turned and inspected the destroyed datapad. He picked up a few chunks and tossed them when they proved unusable. He walked to the chair, righted it, then glared at the blaster bolts that had discolored the fabric—nonlethal ones, like the ones on the walls.

“Whoever took her wanted her alive,” he said.

Bail mumbled something unintelligible and rubbed an already-red left eye with a clenched fist. He sighed. “That’s what we thought, too.”

Vader turned and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Is there anything else worth mentioning?”

“No, but—”

“Do you have security footage of the surrounding area? Was there somebody or something that might’ve seen the kidnapper’s craft or their method for scaling the palace walls—a servant, a handmaid, a droid?”

Bail frowned. “They hacked our security holos—”

“Unfortunate.”

“—but we have a droid who saw the ship. It said the kidnappers used a nondescript model; probably a clunker from a scrapyard.”

Vader considered that, then said, “Bring me the droid.”

“Of course.”

Bail disappeared, and Vader took a few moments to peruse Leia’s room, unaided. He went straight for her drawings and writings. Pressed his gloved hands to the pages and spread them across the desk until he could see each one individually. He studied her tidy handwriting and crossed-out edits. There were a few highlighted sections that referenced old proverbs or books; one page had a quote from an old, very retired senator, another from the Emperor. There were a few more doodles of R2-D2 and one very haughty yet expressionless one of C-3PO with its hands raised, animatedly explaining Force knew what.

Vader smirked behind his mask. At the drawings. At the writings. At the very essence of his daughter. Who she was and what she was like.

Then he moved to the hairbrush and looked at the curly remnants within the bristles. He reached out and plucked a strand, and was instantly reminded of Padmé’s tresses; how they'd often snagged themselves in his clothes in the most curious places. He used to find it mildly irritating—they pricked him or stood straight up through his sleeves or curled in weird designs across his back—but now, he would’ve given up everything he owned to feel her discarded hairs tickling whatever was left of his skin through his suit.

_Breep boo breep. Whurggle wurg._

Leia’s hair fluttered to the floor as Vader turned. “Of course it’d be you,” he said.

R2-D2 trundled forward and stopped when it got to the chasm. It leaned forward and whistled, loud and shrill, but Vader understood every droidian word—as he always had and always would.

“I’m here to help the princess,” he explained, unsure why he was entertaining the astromech’s question. “Now you’re going to show me what you’ve seen so I can find her.”

_Blick blick._

The droid most definitely said _and bring her home,_ but Vader didn’t reply. Instead, he pointed, said, “Now,” and R2-D2 wiggled from side to side with its usual sassy inelegance before it finally relented and extended its projector.

Blue fuzz took shape, and Vader stared at the image. It was a truly commonplace, unimportant Corellian freighter, a decade or so past its prime. And he seethed when the image meant nothing to him and dismissed the astromech with a flick of his wrist.

R2-D2 backed up a bit, but didn’t leave the room. Bail eventually returned looking flustered and windswept and about ready to deliver a myriad of excuses, but then he looked down, saw the droid, and put the pieces together. He said, “Thank you, Artoo.” But didn’t make the useless device leave.

Vader returned to the princess’s hairbrush and drawings. He extended his hands and let them hover over the objects, feeling for Leia’s essence. Searching for a bond embedded in the Force, even if she wasn’t sensitive, herself. Maybe there’d be a piece he could identify and connect to. A piece that would lead him to her, even across the galaxy’s expanse.

He focused—concentrated and enhanced his senses—but Bail was there. Interrupting him. Disturbing him.

“Did Artoo’s projection help?” Bail stepped forward and further disrupted his focus.

Vader said nothing for a while, just seethed at the annoyance. There'd been a tingle, a small blemish in the Force. But it’d glimmered and disappeared before he could really identify what it meant. And he turned, frustrated but strangely calm. “It contained nothing of value,” he finally admitted, hands drifting over the flickering holo of his daughter and her smiling adoptive parents.

“That’s…unfortunate.” Bail shuffled further forward and picked up Leia’s hairbrush. Vader snatched it and returned it to its proper place. “I was hoping you’d see something I couldn’t.”

“I can,” Vader grudgingly admitted. “And am.”

“You are?”

“Indeed.” Vader turned, and Bail stepped back. “And in order for it to be effective, I require _silence_.”

“Ah.” Bail took a few more steps back and joined R2-D2. “O-of course. I’ll just be over…” He pointed, like it mattered. “…there.”

Vader nodded and returned to his task. His hands spread wide and his senses flared out and beyond, probing each of Leia’s cherished, well-handled articles. The Force hummed at him and fought against him for an instant before it coiled around his psyche and embraced the darkness he held so dear.

For the first time in a long while, it whispered directly into his ears and encouraged him to dig deeper, stretch further.

So Vader grabbed Leia’s hairbrush and a drawing he liked, and took them to her bed. He sat—ignored the way the frame and mattress creaked under his weight—and placed the hairbrush on one knee, wrapping his mechanical fingers around its handle to keep it in place. The picture found its way into his pocket while Bail was looking elsewhere, and when it was finally out of sight, he closed his eyes and _stretched._

He thought about what he wanted. Thought about Leia and her curly hair and dimpled smile. Thought about his visions where she kicked and hit, _screamed_ for him or Bail while an unidentifiable body held her down and hit back. Thought about the smallest details of his vision and how he wanted to learn more. Understand more.

And he breathed—long and deep—

And slipped away.

Into the Force’s loving grasp…

Where it transported him to a room he’d never seen before.

The Force-enabled connection was thin and somewhat blurred—wholly worrisome—and Vader didn’t know how much time he had, so he gazed at his surroundings and memorized each detail as best as he could.

A windowless room, ten-by-ten at best. It housed a single door, but when Vader pressed his hand against the panel, he discovered it locked. It was twilight-level dark, which meant that there was _just_ enough light to see. Barely. And there were a myriad of unidentifiable blemishes on the walls—they could’ve been blood, feces, or discolorations of any variety—but there were a select few stains that were unmistakably blaster bolts. Lethal ones.

And they unnerved him.

There were unmarked boxes stacked high, and he tried to pry one open, but his fingers floated through the durawood, transparent and unusable. He turned away with a frustrated snarl and continued looking. Continued searching.

There was an odd and distracting smell—rot and decay with a tinge of urine and feces—and even through his respirator, his eyes watered until he blinked the tears away.

Music played and raucous laughter resounded nearby, but it was muffled, and the voices couldn’t be deciphered from so far away. So he took a step. Then another. Looked around—again—and couldn’t discern anything of note other than the fact that the room felt like a prison—looked like a prison. And Vader had no doubt that it wasn’t, even make-shift.

Then something sniffled, and he leaned forward and—

Found her.

_Leia._

She was cowering. Huddling. Dirtied knees pressed tight against her forehead. Dress and boots torn and ravaged with dirt and substances unknown. Fingers bloodied and raw, arms and legs quaking.

She lifted her head—just barely—and Vader could see a trail of blood dribble down the side of her face; the crimson stream continued past her chin until it disappeared beneath her thick and unkempt curls. She blinked once, and Vader watched her unfocused eyes blur with tears; evidence of their predecessors splotched her cheeks and mixed with that ever-expanding trail of blood. She tried to swipe everything away but stopped when the effort proved too painful.

She opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Shivered.

Gasped and wheezed.

Then let another torrent of tears fall as she pressed her bruised and raw cheek against the filthy wall.

Vader knelt awkwardly in front of her. He stretched out his hands, gentle and caring, and tried to cup her tiny digits with his own massive ones. But just as before, his fingers floated through, useless. So he rested there, staring at Leia—his daughter—watching her cry and sniffle and swipe at her running nose with a decrepit sleeve.

Until the scene grew too difficult to bear.

He scooted close, knees almost pressing against hers. “Can you hear me?”

She said nothing. Just whimpered and huddled into herself.

“Leia—”

Her eyes flicked to him for a single instant, then disappeared behind her hands.

“You _can,_ can’t you?”

No answer. No movement.

“I want to help you.” A pause. “But I need you to tell me where you are.”

Her head tilted up and her brown irises focused on him— _on him!—_ but then she cringed, whimpered, and pressed her head into her knees until she disappeared behind a cloud of unruly brown hair.

“Leia.” He’d never begged—found it demeaning—but he’d do it for her. Gladly and without pause. “ _Please.”_

No answer. Just movement.

She slumped forward, stretched out her hands, and crawled to the opposite wall, wincing with the slightest effort. She stopped behind a box and she wedged herself into a corner. Tight. And far, _far_ away from him.

“Leia.”

Still nothing.

He followed her path, scuttling inelegantly across the disgusting floor. “Leia—”

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“Up an’ at ‘em, kid!”

Somebody was screaming from the other side of the door, and Leia let out a frail cry. The door opened—the music grew loud and deafening—and Vader tuned to watch a purple Twi’lek enter; he was brawny and calloused, self-righteous and imposing (to a child), clearly dim-witted, but threatening, nonetheless.

He walked with purpose and pride, and strode directly to Leia’s corner, where he sneered at the wall before pressing his gloved hand against it. He leaned forward, eyes cold and calculating, and barked, “I said _up!_ ”

He gave her no time to respond or move before he kicked her. Hard.

Leia yelped and struggled to get onto her feet. But she wasn’t fast enough, and he grabbed her throat. He yanked her up and into the air—

And she flailed until breathless.

His pointed teeth gleamed yellow as she aimlessly punched putrid air, losing consciousness with every strike as she struggled to breathe.

“Still feisty, I see,” he said as he dropped her ungracefully onto the floor. Leia rolled on the ground, pitched forward, and gasped. “And still not _up,_ ” he growled as he wailed into her side once more.

Leia screamed as another round of soggy tears poured from her lashes; they pitter-pattered against the steel floor until she lurched ungracefully and violently backward, against her will.

The Twi’lek put one fist in her hair and dragged her across the makeshift prison. Leia kicked and shrieked, but it made no difference. The Twi’lek was bigger and stronger, and she was already so weakened and bruised. Practically defeated.

It pained Vader to watch the abuse, but he knew he had to.

So he followed.

Into the loud hall filled with species of all sorts, milling about as they drank and conversed. The Twi’lek nodded at a pair of Rodian males, and Leia’s squeals lessened until she went entirely mute. Her captor smirked at the sullen silence but eventually pressed through the small crowd. They walked—Leia stumbled—until they hit a curved staircase. They descended slow and steady until the Twi’lek groaned and kicked Leia down the last few treads. He laughed as her face hit the dirt floor, and eventually forced her onto her feet with an aggressive heave.

His leather-worn gloves brushed her face—smeared dirt into her pores—and she flinched backward at the rough and unwelcome contact.

She swiped at her face until the dirt wore thin, barely there, and he laughed. Then he stuck his thumb in his mouth and wiped the remainder of the grime off with a saliva-coated digit.

“The slug wants to keep you pretty,” he said when she was smudged clean. “So don’t make me do that again ‘else I’ll have to send you to Xi’an. And you won’t like that.”

Leia paled as her eyes grew wide. She shook her head, fast—so fast—and he chuckled, low and cryptic.

“Heard you already had a run-in with ‘er. Wasn’t pleasant, huh?”

Leia’s head dipped as her eyes closed.

The Twi’lek snorted. “Just ‘member,” he said, poking his saliva-glazed thumb to his chest, “I’m _worse._ ”

Leia said nothing, just whimpered. And the Twi’lek’s teeth glittered once more. Then he shoved Leia forward, through a beaded doorway—

_“Qin!”_

“Jabba!”

And Vader knew where she was.


	3. Jabba's Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning, this chapter mentions rape (not Leia--I'd never EVER write something like that) and murder. Plenty of murder.

Leia’s silver-handled hairbrush clattered to the floor and Vader stood stick-straight, towering over everything and anything in the room. He rushed out of Leia’s bedroom—Bail tight on his heels—and entered the turbolift.

They went down, down, down, faster than the lift was designed to go. It screeched the whole way and Bail looked at him, eyes desperate for information. For knowledge. “Is she—?”

“She’s alive,” Vader said, fists clenching.

Bail took a deep breath. “So you—?”

“Know who has her?” A pause. “Yes.”

“Who…where?”

“Jabba the Hutt. Tatooine.”

“ _Tatooine?_ ” Bail gasped. “Why— _how_?”

“No clue. Don’t care.” The lift opened into the hangar and Vader strode out. Bail struggled to keep up. “But I’m going to find her and—”

“Bring her home,” Bail interrupted.

Vader didn’t respond and Bail jogged a few steps before he stopped directly in Vader’s path. He scoffed at the slight nuisance and bypassed the diminutive man, continuing to his ship.

“You will, right?” Bail said, hopeful as he jogged to catch up. “Bring her home? To Alderaan. To me.”

Vader stopped for a moment and stared. Stared at Bail and his trembly-lipped and annoyingly expectant face. At the guards whose blasters had stayed affixed to his back the moment he had arrived. At the servants who were whispering off to the side, some whose minds were child’s play to read.

_Sith Lord. Murderer. Imperial scum. Emperor’s dog…_

But he didn’t need to read their minds to know what they thought or felt. And he certainly didn’t need to explain why he had no intention of bringing Leia back. Not to Bail. Not to anyone.

Because Leia was his by intergalactic law and birth. And Bail couldn’t keep her away from him anymore.

She’d never return to Alderaan. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow it. Not when Bail’d done a piss-poor job of keeping her safe and protected. Away from the dangers she was facing now. And certainly not when he was ready and willing to give her everything she dreamed of or desired. Hell, he’d give her the galaxy if she asked.

But he couldn’t tell Bail that. Not yet, at least.

“I’ll do whatever is best for Leia,” he said instead.

Bail’s eyes narrowed, but Vader pressed on. Into his ship, into the pilot’s seat.

The cruiser hummed under his ministrations and the ramp retracted. Bail flopped into the copilot’s chair, breathless and twitching.

“You should remain on Alderaan,” Vader said as he engaged a few controls and input a few careful calculations. “Where I’m going is far too dangerous for someone like…you.”

Bail frowned and flipped back his overcoat. Hidden beneath his regal attire was a holster; inside, a custom blaster, retrofitted specifically for his fingerprints. Vader said nothing, though he was slightly impressed—and reminded of another senator…

“I’m well prepared for whatever adventure awaits us.” Bail flipped his coat back down and snorted. “And besides, Leia doesn’t know you—”

“Whose fault is that?”

“—and she’ll want a familiar form to cling to when we find her.”

Vader couldn’t argue against that, so he shrugged and activated the boosters. They set off at a ridiculous speed and Bail clutched the dash like his life was about to end, knuckles ghostly white against his unusually tanned skin. He shook until they entered the familiar jostles of hyperspace. Straightened.

“I understand your motivation,” he admonished as he pried his fingers off the ship’s control panel, “but must you be so reckless? This’ll all be for naught if we end up killed in some sort of freak accident.”

“I’m the best pilot in the galaxy.” Vader adjusted and readjusted a calculation or two, shaving minutes and seconds off their course. “And you didn’t see what I saw.”

Bail paled. Leaned forward and _grabbed—_

Vader shoved him away, but the viceroy managed to clutch onto his arm and _squeeze_.

“Saw?” Bail’s voice was frantic. “You saw her? Is she hurt or injured in any way? Is she okay? Oh, please—tell me she’s unharmed.”

Hurt or injured didn’t _begin_ to describe Leia’s situation. She’s was _maimed._ Abused. _Violated._ And Vader needed to rescue her _—now—_ before something significantly worse happened.

And for a split second, he tested the Force bond he had somehow conjured. It was still weak—and growing weaker—but still there, nevertheless. And it reassured him of one important thing: Leia was alive. Still living and breathing. Still kicking and hitting. Fighting.

And he would be by her side soon enough.

“She’s hurt,” he finally admitted as he tried—and failed—to tug his arm back. “But Jabba doesn’t want her badly damaged.”

Bail floundered and finally _let go_. “ _Badly damaged?_ What’s that supposed to mean? And why would Jabba even _want_ her? Alderaan hasn’t done anything to the Hutts.”

Vader shrugged. “I don’t know what the Twi’lek meant—”

“ _Twi’lek?”_

“—and some people don’t need a reason to do what they do. They just…do.”

Bail stared, mouth forming words without sound.

Vader continued, “And besides, Jabba might just be a middle-man. Perhaps a hired hand. He has access to some of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy.”

“But _why—”_

“And don’t tell me that during your many _years_ serving in the Senate, you’ve never once made an enemy. Even somebody who wanted you or somebody you loved dead just because you breathed at the wrong time.” A pause. “Or just because you were…there.”

Bail’s mouth opened. Then closed. Vader, meanwhile, made another adjustment and salvaged another three minutes.

“Or maybe this is because of _you_ ,” Bail said, folding his arms over his chest like a pouting child. “Maybe somebody has a grudge against _you.”_

Vader smirked behind the safety of his mask. “ _Everybody_ has a grudge against me. But not everybody knows about Leia. So tell me, Viceroy, how many people knew about her besides you, Yoda, and Kenobi?”

Bail quieted for a while. “No one,” he eventually admitted in a frail whisper. “Not that I know of, at least.”

With that thought between them, they drifted into uncomfortable silence for the remainder of their journey. And when Tatooine was finally before them—desert planet flooding the transparent durasteel—they looked at each other for the first time in hours.

Bail fidgeted. “Do you have a plan?”

No, Vader did not. Not a good one, at least. Not one where Bail survived the impending assault and Leia came out unscathed and whole. _Not_ traumatized by death and a level of severe violence no child should see. Nevertheless, he said, “Kill everybody. Get the girl.”

“Ah,” Bail said, still fidgeting. “That’s a good plan. A good, _good_ plan. Succinct. To the point—”

“Stop talking.”

Bail did.

Vader parked his ship within Jabba’s private lot like all of the other patrons, bounty hunters, and vile scum of the galaxy. He and Bail walked down the ramp and took their first step into the sand. Vader’s boot hit the granules—

—and he felt it.

A Force presence he knew so well—too well. One that had eluded him for six whole years, no matter how hard he searched, no matter who he killed or tortured, maimed or eviscerated. He’d followed countless leads, all without purpose or meaning or conclusion. Failures, all of them. Yet here the man was. On one of the galaxy’s worst dust-balls.

“Kenobi.”

Bail turned, eyes wide and mouth stumbling over even the most basic words. “V-Vader, I-I—”

“Shush.”

Bail did not. He pointed, like his desires mattered. “B-but V-Vader, Leia. Sh-she’s—”

Vader clenched a single hand and Bail went mute. He reached out and felt his old master’s presence, warned him that he was there. There and ready and coming. But Kenobi didn’t respond; he didn’t jerk back or disappear or engage in any way. Instead, Kenobi’s presence shifted around something, tried to hide something—

But he was too late, because Vader had already stretched and sensed the supersized glimmer Kenobi was trying to conceal and protect. A Force signature that was pure and bright, raw and ill-trained, but extraordinarily powerful, nonetheless.

A child. A gifted one, at that.

Vader snorted and took a step east, away from Jabba’s palace and toward the distraction of his old master and new padawan.

He clenched both hands, determined.

He couldn’t let Kenobi continue living. And he certainly couldn’t let the man’s student embrace the Light. He’d grant his old master the swift and honorable death he so rightfully deserved. And the student? Maybe he’d take pity on him and train him in the ways of the Sith—the _right_ way. The _only_ way a Force user of that caliber should be trained.

Another step.

Bail flailed against his back. He hit with everything he could muster, smashing into durasteel armor like it was nothing—like it didn’t hurt or injure his weak flesh and bones. He finally stopped when Vader turned back around and released his hold on his jaw.

“ _What?_ ”

 _“Leia!”_ Bail shouted and threw one final punch against his chest. “ _We’re here for Leia. NOT Kenobi!”_

Vader hesitated.

Any other day, he would’ve charged and engaged his former master. Struck him down with the merciless vengeance he most certainly deserved.

But Leia…

She was still hurt. Still fighting—

Still screaming. For her father. For him.

_For him._

And he couldn’t let her down…

Not again.

Kenobi would…have to wait. This time, and this time only, the man and his student were safe. Protected.

But when Leia was in his care and healthy, all bets were off. He’d return to Tatooine and bless his old master with a duel. Show him the true power of the Dark Side and his hatred for the Jedi and their corrupt ways…

But first— _first—_ Leia.

Grudgingly, he traipsed across the sand toward Jabba’s palace. Bail joined him and they got about half-way across the lot before they saw a familiar ship: the decrepit, out-of-date Corellian freighter that had been used to kidnap Leia. Vader sacrificed a few moments and rigged it to blow on his command. Bail watched, face unusually determined and cold. Unlike him, but wholly welcome since he was still quiet.

When the ship was set to explode, they continued walking until they stopped at Jabba’s front door. They knocked—waited, five, six, _seven_ seconds—and were greeted by an irate TT-8L/Y7 droid.

The droid sputtered a variety of insults as it opened its optical sensor. Then it quivered when it saw who was demanding entry. Chirped excitedly—and apologetically—as it opened the palace’s massive metal door.

And before the annoying gatekeeper could completely retract, Vader sliced it to pieces. Then he disengaged his saber and entered, ducking under the door that hadn’t finished opening. Bail followed, albeit slightly behind and fumbling with his holster as he withdrew his blaster.

They stalked through the empty main hall as music masked their footsteps; it got louder and nearly deafening the deeper they penetrated Jabba’s fortress. And just when they thought they had entered completely unseen, a pair of Gamorrean guards stepped out of a crudely-carved hole in the wall, vibro-lances buzzing and snouts dripping.

Vader wasted no time. After a humming whoosh, their guts splattered onto the floor before they could get into any sort of defensive formation. One squealed—loud and shrill—as it tried and failed to restuff itself, but the other didn’t respond in any way. They both died without ceremony or reason (other than being the second measly hindrance to Leia’s rescue) and Vader spared them no thought.

Bail, meanwhile, gagged and retched at the smell and sight.

Vader didn’t have any patience or use for somebody who had never encountered death or simply wasn’t used to it. “Stay here,” he ordered.

But Bail refused with a shake of his pale face. He took a deep breath…and stepped over a pile of fuming innards. “It’s been a while since the Clone Wars,” he admitted with a grimace. “A while since I’ve seen something like…that.”

Vader said nothing and they continued, silent and deadly. Until they encountered a split; one hall to the left, another to the right.

Bail leveled his blaster down the right. “Which way?”

“Not sure,” Vader admitted. He stretched one hand down the left, then the right. Both held life; both awaited death. But one was significantly more populated than the other, and Vader knew where he needed to go.

“How about I go right, you go left?” Bail said, taking a determined step.

Left was the direction Vader wanted to go, anyway. “Sounds good.”

Bail nodded and walked right, blaster raised to the level of his eye. Vader, meanwhile, continued left.

His chosen hall was still barren and it eventually widened. He quickly found himself in front of a familiar sight and stopped. A beaded doorway to the left, a curved staircase to the right—just like in his vision. He walked left, toward the beads, then paused and reattached his lightsaber to his belt.

He took a calming breath—

—and entered Jabba’s court.

There were lifeforms of all sizes and walks of life…everywhere. A half-naked Twi’lek female danced center-stage in the middle of the throng. She captivated her entire audience as she took off her chest binding with a twist, hurled it with a flick, and spiraled through an erotic dance. The crowd jeered and reached out with grubby hands, demanding her flesh against theirs, but she twirled away before their skin could connect to hers.

Vader ignored the stripping slave and looked beyond, at the half-asleep slug with a chain in one hand and a tipping drink in the other. He remained still and staring until Jabba’s orange eyes widened, finally seeing his unexpected guest.

Shocked, Jabba yanked the chain in his hand and the Twi’lek dancer jerked backward and off her feet. The crowd attacked in a fit of ravenous and sensually engorged screams, and the woman shrieked as they pillaged whatever was left of her dignity.

Vader stepped forward and payed the screaming Twi’lek no heed as slick juices poured out of several alien orifices, coating her insides and flesh. He stopped at the daises and looked up.

Jabba’s eyes flicked to his slave and he released the chain with a scowl—done with the tainted girl. He extended both arms and sent his nearly-empty drink careening across the room until it shattered on the far wall. “ _De wanna wanga, Darth Vader,”_ he said in Huttese.

Vader did not return the greeting. Instead, he pointed and said, “You have something of mine.”

Surprise filled Jabba’s face. The slug looked left, right, then below. He shrugged until something dawned on him— _Leia_ dawned on him. “ _Ah!”_ His mouth bubbled with mucus and a slimy tongue jutted out. “ _He sent you to collect?_ ”

Eyes narrowing, Vader said, “Yes.”

Jabba started clapping and the crowd parted. A majordomo stepped forward and whispered unintelligible words; Jabba whispered back and the man balked and sneered with pointed teeth, then disappeared.

Silence descended. In the crowd, in the court. In between the Sith Lord and slug.

Then, “ _Such an unusual request.”_

Vader did not reply.

“ _We kept her healthy and alive—as per instruction—but she’s proven herself more,”_ Jabba paused and smacked his elongated stomach with tiny arms and hands, “ _difficult than we anticipated.”_

Vader remained silent and brooding.

_“I’m told that she’s…strange.”_

Silence.

 _“You’re extraordinarily lucky we were able to…”_ Another pause. “ _…sedate her.”_

Still nothing, but that didn’t mean Vader wasn’t listening to every word, intrigued.

 _“Because of her…strangeness…I’ve kept one of my best men on her,”_ Jabba drawled out, unknowingly damning himself. “ _And he should be here soo—ah! Qin!”_

“Jabba!”

A muscular, purple Twi’lek—one of Jabba’s _best_ men, _Qin_ —strode forward with one of his hands extended. Vader immediately recognized him: Leia’s abuser. He quickly looked away from the soon-to-be dead man and rested his helmeted gaze on the cowering girl locked in Qin’s other hand, stumbling weakly with every forced step.

Qin turned away from Jabba—faced Vader—and smirked. He shoved Leia onto her knees and she hit the floor with an exhausted, “ _Oomph.”_ She slipped into silence after being thrown a dirty look.

“The girl’s clean,” Qin said with yellow-toothed grin.

Vader looked down and scowled. Leia was anything but.

She was coated in a menagerie of dirt and slime, white dress mangled or completely gone in some places. Her shoes were missing and blood splotched the floor—she was cut, somewhere, somehow—and her off-white leggings were ripped until he could see bruised skin underneath. Her hair was a mess, but there was evidence that it had been plaited at one time or another; it hung knotted, drab, and unwashed against her tear-smeared cheeks.

The cut on her head had been cleaned—but not well—and something was oozing out of her shoulder, green and frothy.

And she wasn’t looking _up._

She looked _worse_ than she had in his vision, and the longer he stared, the more his rage grew…

“She’s damaged,” Vader snarled as he slid one hand into the depths of his cape. He fingered his lightsaber, then clutched it.

Jabba _noticed._ He squealed in Huttese, “ _We did exactly as asked, Lord Vader. But as I said, she proved exceedingly difficult to handle, what with the—”_

Leia _sniffled—_

And Jabba didn’t get a chance to finish.

Vader’s saber pierced one of his large, orange eyes and his top half collapsed onto the grated floor with a sickening _squelch_. The slug groaned as life and air left his shriveling body. Then the room erupted, enraged and screaming.

Everything from blaster fire to vibro-blades suddenly sped through the court, but Vader was well-trained and prepared for backlash, and he dodged and flung the bolts and weapons back to their sources with ease.

Something white flicked behind him, but he couldn’t worry about whatever it was…

Because a Rodian pair were scrambling forward and attacking; they proved no match and were easily dispatched, and they soon fell dead or dying onto the floor—

—until it suddenly opened up and they disappeared down a chute and into a pit below.

Vader hurtled across the opening and _attacked,_ hard and vicious. _Merciless_. And sentient beings and droids alike fell in droves, gasping and retching and spilling all sorts of fluids.

There was _screaming_ —so much anguish and pain releasing into the Force, into the dark—and Vader collected it and _lunged._ He used their own fears against them; he clouded their weak-minded heads with visions of their deaths and deepest terrors, then sliced them in two when they tried to tear out their eyes or rip off their ears.

It was a massacre, but people kept _joining—_

And Vader kept _killing._

He spared no one. Musicians, servers, bounty hunters, regents, and bystanders—even the Twi’lek dancer sprawled naked on the ground, covered in mucus and froth—suffered the same fate.

Until there was nobody left standing or breathing.

Except him.

Vader turned—panting—and reached for his daughter. But Leia was gone and he had no idea where she went. So he started searching, lightsaber still clenched tight in in his fist in case another opponent reared his or her ugly head.

He looked into the pit—saw a rancor feasting on the Rodian pair from earlier—and shifted his gaze elsewhere, to the bar, where he crouched low and crept along the alcohol-laden side. She wasn’t hiding between the cases or bottles and he grew frustrated with each minute she was missing.

“Leia.” His natural voice was soft, but his vocalizer rasped out her name in its usual gruff baritone.

Nobody responded and he stretched one hand out, searching for the bond he had created what felt like _forever_ ago.

He felt a flicker. It was faint and hard to understand, but it whispered one thing with a shaky nervousness: Leia was gone. Long gone.

Then the darkness responded with a glimmer, a frail warning. It told him that not all of his opponents had met their match. Not all of them were dead or dying.

Yet.

Vader stooped and inspected the piles of dead bodies. He noticed that one was missing. One that he wanted to maim very, very much—Jabba’s best man, _Qin_. And he slumped forward, listening. Waiting and sensing.

He smirked behind his mask.

There were crates along the far wall, hiding something. Hiding _someone._ And they shook with the dark’s power, shook with Vader’s bloodthirsty rage.

He stepped forward and probed Qin’s mind—listened to his mindless pleads.

_Please don’t find me. Please, please, please._

How fitting. Beneath his muscles, vulgarities, and child-abusing tendencies, the man was a coward. A horrible excuse for sentient life who squealed like a terrified little girl when frightened or intimidated.

Vader raised his ignited saber, reveling in Qin’s abject terror, enjoying his fear as it amplified his connection to the darkness within. He fed off it, and in turn fed Leia’s torturer his worst fears as he neared.

The thoughts grew more pained. Almost whimpering.

_Please don’t find me. Please, please, please._

And for a moment, Vader listened to the Qin’s piteous thoughts—listened to his final words. Then he stepped forward, humming saber clasped tight in his hand. Ready to finish off his final combatant, ready to clear the room of the galaxy’s lowest filth.

He stretched out his left hand and demanded access to the Force’s might; the containers lifted— _slowly—_ and the chanting grew louder and louder until it morphed into a twisted prayer.

_Please don’t find me. Please, please, please._

Another step forward—toward Qin’s ill-chosen hiding spot—and the prayer grew to an almost unbearable volume, tone shifting to a screeching, girlish wail.

_Please don’t find me! Please! Please! Please! **Please don’t find—**_

Vader hurled the boxes into the wall, showering metal splinters in all directions. He charged, brandishing his crimson-tinted blade. Ready to strike the foul abomination down, ready to rip Qin from his certain misery.

Qin shrieked with a voice that was not his—“ _No!”_ —and Vader looked down and somehow managed to stop his saber at the base of _definitely_ not-Qin’s rapidly-pulsating throat.

 _Vssssh._ His weapon purred and Vader’s mechanical hand shook, his saber with it.

He couldn’t believe who it was—couldn’t believe what he could’ve done.

It wasn’t Qin—wasn’t somebody who deserved a merciless death.

It was… _her._

Princess Leia.

Leia, Padmé’s child.

Leia…his daughter.

And he…and he didn’t understand. The Force had said she was gone, had said she was far, far away. Yet there she was. Quivering. Terrified. Hugging herself as fat tears ran down her bruised cheeks.

He stared and Leia cringed at the too-close heat of his blade and twisted away from it. Pressed herself tight against the wall, where she sniffled and whimpered. Hid her face with her knees and curled into the smallest ball a little girl could become.

And after a few event-less moments of Vader remaining robotically still—with only the steady hum of his weapon filling the soundless void—she snuck a quick glance skyward. Looked at him.

And he looked back, using his blade’s light to illuminate the darkened corner.

Her eyes were bloodshot and watery and he reached out, wanting to touch her, wanting to help her. But she squeaked and pulled back when his gloved hand brushed her skin.

He knelt and she curled into herself, trying to get small, trying to disappear—

Then he saw it—the Force-inhibiting collar. And he squinted, confused. But then he knew. _He knew._ And he crouched closer, leering at the device. Glaring at the coiled steel and intricate technology and the steadily-blinking red orb that indicated its power gauge— _maximum_.

And everything suddenly made sense.

The non-explosive crater in her room, their unusual Force-enabled connection that was sometimes there and sometimes not, the _disconnection_ when those hunters had slapped the collar around her neck during his original vision, Jabba’s mentioning that she’d been strange—needed to be sedated.

Leia was Force-sensitive. And she was _strong._

Strong enough to deter her captors with a debilitating blast when they’d caught her unaware. Strong enough to combat a few of them at once—get a few swipes in before they finally managed to pin her down and shove that infernal collar around her neck.

But even then, she was dangerous—powerful. And the old tech wasn’t strong enough to keep her weak or easily maneuverable. Quiet or mollified. Because she’d continuously fought back, continuously struggled against them.

And because she was so powerful— even unknowingly—she’d led him right to her.

The collar was on its maximum setting but he could still feel her. It was a flighty connection—flickering indiscriminately whenever it wanted to rear its unhelpful head—but it was there. And it was _growing_ the longer he loomed over her, presumably threatening her.

He stretched his hand out and Leia’s brown eyes watched, unblinking. Untrusting. And he stopped.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

Disbelief. It rippled through the Force in harsh waves and he curled his fingers and pointed.

“I’m going to remove this.”

Leia looked at him, puzzled at first. Then she nodded. Slowly. Barely.

His hand traveled the remaining distance—Leia’s eyes never drifted away—and he bent his fingers around steel. The collar popped off with a satisfying _clink_ and tumbled to the ground with a resounding _clatter._

There was an instantaneous _eruption_ in the Force. Like a supernova-sized star had been released from whatever had managed to contain it. It almost threw Vader back—the sheer power of it, the sheer _rawness_ of it—but he remained still and steady because something else drew close to it. Drew close to Leia.

 _Reached_ for her—

Even from so far away, Vader felt Kenobi’s young padawan grasp for Leia’s presence. Reach tenderly and gingerly before being pulled forcefully back by Kenobi, himself. Then Kenobi stretched out, curious and cautious before retracting as quick as he could when Vader’s own presence coiled around Leia’s, hiding her. Protecting her like Kenobi had done with his own pupil mere minutes ago.

There was a generous pause, a lingering of sorts. And Vader used the opportunity to make his old master a promise. _Next time, old man. Consider yourself lucky._ Then Kenobi’s presence disappeared entirely. His student’s with it.

They had fled the planet.

Vader slumped. Then looked down and inspected his daughter.

Leia hadn’t noticed Kenobi’s invisible probe or Vader’s enveloping Force signature. Instead, she’d reached up and felt her bare neck.

Her skin was chaffed and rubbed raw until it’d blistered; a few welts had popped and were festering. The wounds looked painful and tender, and when her hand accidentally brushed a bubble, she cringed and whimpered. Pulled away and accidentally smashed her head against the wall behind her head.

“Leia.”

Her eyes locked onto his—even through the mask. He held out his hand, hoping she’d take it. Hoping she’d accept his aid and mercy. But she didn’t. She just stared at it—stared at him with furrowed eyebrows and waterlogged eyes.

“Leia,” he said again, crinkling his fingers.

She blinked and burrowed into her legs. Shook her head. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to; her thoughts were loud enough for him to hear.

_Please…leave._

Two words. And each broke what was left of his heart.

_Please, please, please._

“I…cannot.”

Leia looked at him, eyes wide. Confused and scared. She tried to scoot away from him, tried to push herself behind another pile of splintered crates. But she cringed at the movement and ultimately failed to distance herself from him.

“Your thoughts are very loud,” he explained, remaining still, feeling her abject terror as she recoiled. Again. “Very loud.”

_Th-then go._

“I cannot, Princess.” Vader sighed. “I’m here to take you home.”

Her eyes poked over her knees, pools of brown suddenly hopeful and curious. _H-home?_

“To your father.”

_To…Alderaan? To…Daddy? Mommy?_

Vader paused and considered. “Home. To your father.”

Her head pulled up higher, exposing more of her bruised face. Irises that had once belonged to _her_ bounced from his mask to his hand, then back. Leia bit her trembling bottom lip. _How can I trust you?_

Vader withdrew his hand and disengaged his saber. He plucked a piece of paper from his belt and held it out for her to examine. Leia looked at one of her own drawings, brows crinkling.

“Bail Organa gave me this, so you’d know.”

It was a lie. He’d snatched it from her room because he’d liked it. Snatched it because it was hers and by extension, _his_. But Leia didn’t know, and her eyes grew big and round as she reached for the paper. Her little fingers wrapped around the page and she touched a wax-smeared line. She drifted backward and pressed the picture to her chest.

_Daddy…_

Vader slouched.

Leia looked up, eyes hopeful and questioning. _Who’re you?_

“Your fa—” He paused and let out a gargled breath that his vocalizer couldn’t mimic. “Darth Vader.”

_And Daddy sent you to bring me home?_

He nodded.

_Promise?_

“Yes.”

She reached forward and touched his gloved hand. Held it for a moment, then clenched it. Hard—as hard as she could, at least.

He responded in kind. He held her small fingers tight, but not too tight, and she crawled out from behind her boxes. Stood in front of him and winced when her bare feet scuffed the metal splinters littering the floor.

“May I carry you?”

She glanced at her bloodied feet and wiggled a few toes. One or two bled and she flinched. Nodded.

He hoisted her into his arms and pressed her snug against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat—could feel each minute breath—and he held her as tight as he dared.

It was his first time holding her—his first time holding his daughter. His flesh. His blood.

His…everything.

And he reveled in it. Wished he could stand there forever and ever. Just holding her. Just feeling her breathe.

Because she was alive. Alive and well.

Alive and well and coiled in his arms. _His arms._ And he’d never let go again.

He felt her arms curl around his neck. Felt her cheek press into the hallow section between his helmet and armored shoulder. Watched her eyes flutter shut as she released a deeply-held breath. She nuzzled closer—squeezed tightly into him.

_Thank you._

And he embraced her, clasp reassuring. Paternally loving, even if she didn’t understand—didn’t know.

“You’re welcome.”


	4. Enemies in the Empire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic depiction of death!!

Bail was still annoyingly _missing_ and Vader couldn’t leave without murdering the rest of the palace’s residents. He had vowed to kill everything and everyone—sans Leia and maybe Bail—and he wouldn’t break that promise, especially after seeing the way she’d been treated first and secondhand.

So with his child clutching his neck, breath pitter-pattering against him in anguished heaves as she tried to stifle whatever was left of her tears, he broke off the path to the palace’s exit and went deeper. Upstairs, downstairs—wherever he needed to go to sate his growing anger and blood-lusting hunger.

It was surprisingly easy to find Jabba’s fleeing patrons—and it was surprisingly easy to finish the last of them off. The Force showed him exactly where they were, like little buttons lit up across a ship’s control module, and he snuffed them out like vermin.

_Vuhzzzz! Ksssssh!_

_"AHHH!"_

Leia had stopped sniffling at one point or another—Vader didn’t know when—and instead stared at the beings who had directly or indirectly abused or violated her as they fell dead or dying to the floor. She looked up when he successfully cleared another hallway and squeezed him tight.

Vader returned the embrace, but a blaster bolt aimed straight for him—and, _infuriatingly_ , Leia—ruined the moment. It was a deadly shot— _ridiculously_ accurate—but Vader was skilled beyond measure and it ricocheted off his saber and hit the wall on his right. Then the Twi’lek who had fired—Jabba’s _best_ man, _Qin_ —lunged forward and sent off another three.

Again, they ricocheted off Vader’s humming saber. Again, the Twi’lek lunged.

Then there were _two_ of them—one male, one female—and they came at him with vibro-blades and knives, blasters and fists.

Vader fought them off, one-handed, as his other hand held Leia close yet away from danger.

“Get ‘im, Xi’an!” Qin screamed as he unleashed a deadly barrage of red blasts.

“I’m _tryin’!_ ”

The female leapt, quick and lethal, spinning her knives and baring her teeth. She would’ve made a skilled opponent against somebody else, but she had chosen Vader as her target, and he wasn’t in the mood to leave survivors—

_Zuhmmm!_

_“Ah—!”_

Her body hit the floor with a deafening _thump_ and her head rolled across the hall, face permanently startled yet sneering. Devoid of life yet filled with one final expression: terror.

Qin _raged_ at the sight of the female’s dismembered head. He snarled a strange medley of inhuman noises and screamed nearly unintelligible curses as he unleashed round after round of lethal fire, stepping closer and closer with each shot.

Vader parried each, until—

—one escaped his grasp—

—and struck his knee, temporarily damaging his mechanical limb and forcing him to kneel.

Qin’s yellow and pointed teeth glittered as he advanced, still firing blast after blast.

Vader shifted Leia into the crook of his arm so he could use his other hand. He blocked one, two, _three_ separate blasts. Then—

—the Twi’lek stilled, gasping and retching—

—and Leia’s hands soared up, fingers sprawled and reaching.

Vader could feel it, the Force—the _dark._ It curved around his daughter’s fingers and vibrated with her will. Her tiny digits hooked and then closed and the Twi’lek pitched forward, still gasping. Still retching. Her hands clenched tighter and tighter and Qin’s eyes bulged until they burst from their sockets. Then his nose erupted in a fit of blood, draining, draining, draining...

Qin screamed like somebody would come to his aid, help him, _save him_ —

And Leia _concentrated_ until she shook, intensifying her hold.

Qin’s skull split with a deafening _crack_ and his face caved in with a sickening song of _crunches_. Tissue and skin and brains exploded everywhere, coating the stone walls and floor with goopy puddles of red and pink. The Twi’lek collapsed—head a malformed blob, lifeless and quiet—and the dark curled away and disappeared as quick as it came.

Leia was left panting and sniffling as fresh tears poured down her cheeks. She stared at her fingers, gasped, then _bawled,_ and Vader felt every earth-quaking emotion empty out of her little form with a clarity he couldn’t comprehend or believe.

Surprise. Aggression. Revulsion. Denial. Grief. Acceptance. Shame—

_Pain._

So much pain that it physically and mentally hurt him, too.

And he didn’t know what to do because he’d never cared about anyone else so much before, so he just stayed still and listened to her tormented shrieks; they were jarring and anguished and rang in his ears, making seconds feel like _minutes._ Until—

Bail suddenly rounded the hall’s corner, blaster aimed at them—at Leia. But when he realized who was screaming, he immediately holstered his weapon and _bolted._ He skidded to his knees amid the muck on the floor and reached for his daughter—Vader’s daughter. But Leia pushed him away and instead clung onto Vader’s neck, sobbing as she squeezed tight against him.

Bail’s gaze shifted skyward and met his. His brown eyes held elation, confusion, then sadness and he drenched the Force with each one, in that order. And Vader stiffened because Bail couldn’t feel the…shame.

Leia’s shame.

It reverberated everywhere. Coated everything and anything it could cling to. Leia was ashamed of what she’d done. Ashamed of what she could do. And Bail didn’t know. Couldn’t understand.

Bail’s gaze shifted to his suffering child. “Leia, my sweetling. Leia—” He kept cooing—kept saying all the things Vader could say, he _should_ say.

But Leia kept swiping, kept pushing. And kept squeezing. Him. Him of all people. _Him of all people._ And Vader only thought of one thing: she had chosen him. _Chosen him._ And he’d never let her go. Never, ever again.

“What—” Bail was breathless and looked exhausted. There was blood on his boots and his hands were coated in dirt and fried flesh—he’d encountered a few of Jabba’s patrons, himself. He slicked back oily hairs on his head and took a single breath. “What _happened?_ ”

Vader didn’t know how to answer, but he decided on, “The plan.” And Bail’s face went from exhausted to startled to enraged in a matter of milliseconds.

“ _With her in your arms?”_

Again, he didn’t know how to answer, so he just knelt there breathing and staring as Leia sobbed against his neck, soaking his cloak with a mixture of tears and snot.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Bail’s eyes were murderous and wet and he clambered to his feet. “ _Give her to me.”_ He extended his arms, expecting his daughter— _Vader’s daughter_ —to be handed to him, but Vader didn’t move. He would never move again if Leia didn’t want him to. “ _Now.”_

Bail’s tone was confident and clipped, but Vader still didn’t hand Leia over. Instead, he stood and towered over the senator. Boomed, “ _No.”_ And hobbled away, toward the palace’s exit, toward his ship.

Though he’d been left behind, Bail scurried to Vader’s side and loomed over Leia as they walked. He reached for Leia’s cheeks, cupped them, and whispered sweet-sounding shushes. She flinched away from him with a sour-looking grimace and coiled deeper into Vader’s cape, hiding her face within its many folds.

They made it outside in record time and Tatooine’s twin suns blared down, hot and unforgiving. Bail squinted against them, but Vader didn’t pause; he shielded Leia’s eyes from the beams and strode straight to his ship, straight into its shadowed hull.

Leia was still wedged tight in his arms, but she weighed nothing against him and wasn’t a bother in the slightest, so he sat in the pilot’s chair and booted up the navicomputer—destination: Coruscant.

The ship bleeped under his fingers and issued an affirmative response as it plotted a course. It beeped again when it was finally finished and ready, and Bail whipped into the copilot’s chair—breathless, squinting, and jittery—just as the boosters activated.

They ascended over Jabba’s palace and hung in the air for a moment until Vader hit a button. Then _BOOM,_ and all of the ships that had been docked in Jabba’s lot blew sky-high, shredding into insignificant pieces until they collapsed in fragments to the sand below.

They watched the chaos for a moment, then soared quickly and silently across Tatooine’s desert expanse. Vader increased the shuttle’s pitch and the planet grew smaller and smaller the longer they flew, until it disappeared in a fit of blurs, long gone.

Stars streamed across the dash and Leia loomed forward. She wriggled within the confines of Vader’s arms until he grudgingly lessened his hold. She stared at the fluttering lights for several minutes, eyes growing wide and calm—mouth opening without words—until she returned to the comfort of his arms with her own outstretched.

Vader embraced her and vowed to keep her locked within his grasp forever and ever. He couldn’t put her down—wouldn’t put her down. Not when she sought his arms so tenderly. And not when he could feel every feeling pour through her, no matter how slight.

Sorrow and regret—over what she had done…

Anguish and shame—over how she had done it.

And then there were her thoughts…

So small and soft and barely there, but there, nonetheless. And Vader reached out with the Force and brushed against her senses, seeking entrance so he could distract her from her self-abhorring feelings. Save her from her internal conflict.

And after a few careful probes, he could feel her prod back—a slight poke against one of his many steel-clad barriers—but he couldn’t let her in (because it was _his_ head, and his head was _dangerous_ and _dark_ and _no place for a child_ , even his own _)_. She tried again and again, to no avail—so strong and talented and _raw_ —and after the umpteenth attempt, she stopped. Reigned herself in and questioned him directly, instead, using the ever-strengthening connection they shared.

_You were there earlier._

Not a question, but Vader nodded anyway.

 _You were…fuzzy. Hard to hear._ A pause. _I’m sorry I didn’t talk back. I didn’t know who you were…_

With a collar wrapped around her neck, choking not only her throat, but her ability, it was…understandable. _Very_ understandable. And Vader let that feeling flood their bond. Leia squeezed him. Then she poked his mental barrier and demanded access. Again.

But he did not allow her inside.

_How come I can’t hear you?_

Vader leaned back in his chair and readjusted her weight against his chest, careful to avoid the center panel. He took a breath, then another. Looked at Bail, then Leia. He had wanted a distraction and now he had one.

“Can you usually hear others?” he asked, carefully. Slowly. “Their thoughts, their feelings?”

Leia nodded weakly against him and Bail _paled_.

 _Sometimes..._ Her voice trailed away, then brightened. Marginally. _Not with everybody, but with a lot._

Vader squeezed her as tight as he dared. “It’s because you’re like me.”

_Like you?_

“Strong with the Force.”

 _“Enough,”_ Bail spat, eyes livid. “She doesn’t need to know about such things. Not now, not ever.”

Vader frowned behind his mask and Leia bit her bottom lip. She scrunched her eyebrows together and—to his silent delight—ignored her adoptive father.

_The Force? What’s that?_

“The Force is…complicated.”

“Vader!”

_How so?_

“That’s an explanation for another time, Princess. When you’re not exhausted…or hurt.”

_I’m not—_

_“Hurt?_ Hurt _where?_ Let me see _—”_

“I can feel how tired you are. And can feel your pain.” All true. There were prickles all over her body and she wasn’t trained enough to hide them from him. “Your right foot, in particular…it’s bothering you, but you haven’t said anything about it.”

_Because it doesn’t—_

“You’ll let me know when you’re ready for me to inspect your injuries, correct?”

“She most certainly _will not!_ Where’s the medical droid? We’re going _now!”_ Bail got up, but Vader shoved him down with the Force. “You can’t— _unhand me!”_

 _I’m not…_ Leia’s bottom lip puckered out and she hid a thought from him; clever girl. _…Okay. But not right now. Is that...is that okay?_

“As you wish.”

“Vader!”

Leia clasped her hands behind his neck. Hugged him. _How long do we have until we get home?_

Home…

Home to Alderaan? Home to Coruscant? Did she know? Could she tell?

“We’ll be in hyperspace for a few hours.” A breath. “You’ll need to be examined before we arrive.”

“ _Vader!_ She needs help _now!_ She needs an exam _now!”_

_Can I just sit here for a bit? Can I just…_

“You may remain still for as long as you’d like. Just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll alert the medical droid.”

_“VADER!”_

Bail suddenly fell Force-aided silent and Leia nodded. _Okay._

Vader didn’t move for a long while, he didn’t shift or reach for the shuttle’s controls. Because his daughter was against him, drifting asleep. And when she finally slumped into his chest—breath slow, grip loose, heartbeat soft—he stood and walked to the back of his ship, supporting her head with one enlarged fist and her bottom with the other.

Bail followed, though he kept a safe distance.

After pushing a button, a green-hued medical droid burst to life with a whirring jolt. It clumped forward and collected an assortment of instruments. Vader deposited Leia onto a padded table—gently, ever so gently—and the droid examined its patient, _tsk-tsk_ ing as it worked.

It shredded whatever was left of her clothes with a few careful snips and exposed every single injury to the both biological and adoptive father. Bail gasped and choked back a few tears, but the droid ignored him and continued its work, making sure to focus on her more severe injuries, first. It cleaned a fair number of scrapes, bandaged a variety of cuts, and identified a multi-colored range of bruises. It worked meticulously—and thoroughly—and only stopped when Vader waved it away.

He clutched the table and frowned at each blemish, wishing he could bring the vile scum who had hurt his little girl back to life, solely so he could strike them down again. Slower, this time slower. More excruciating. Make them plead for the sweet release of death, and lead them there _just_ so he could pull them back and start all over again. Then do it again. And again, and again, and again, and again. That way they would know what they had done; that way they would know who they’d wronged.

Leia's bandaged hand lay frail and unmoving, and Vader clasped it. He continued looking, continued thinking.

She looked so small on the platform. So small and damaged, so out of place, but so strong. And he couldn’t help feeling a strange mixture of rage and pride.

Because she was _his_ and she was there. And she’d never leave his side again, no matter who protested, no matter who stood in his way. He’d fight, he’d maim, he’d _kill_ before she’d be torn from him.

Again.

And he made a vow. Another promise he intended to keep.

When the time was proper, he’d teach her how to protect _herself_. How to keep herself from being torn from _him._ He’d teach her everything he knew; everything he had gleaned from his training as a Sith. He’d mold her, train her, encourage her to control her burgeoning gifts—gifts that were already so strong and ready to be guided in _just_ the right direction—and after a few years had passed, after she’d been appropriately trained and had proven she was ready for the task, they’d challenge the Emperor and—

—win, as father and daughter and—

—rule, as father and daughter.

And after a while, he’d leave the galaxy in her well-honed and deserved hands…

He soon found himself walking past Bail, away from the small ward.

Bail took an additional moment to inspect his child, then turned and fumed, “ _What_ did you do? _What_ was she asking?”

“She wants to know about herself,” Vader said, fists clenching. He wondered how long Leia’d been wandering through the mysteries of her gifts, by herself. Without a proper teacher or even the most basic guidance. It had probably been maddening at times. Frustrating and complicated. But she’d never let on. Had probably never even told Bail. And though it angered him, he knew her situation would change.

Soon.

“What…” Bail paused and his face scrunched into an uncomfortable expression. “What _happened_ back there? With the Twi’lek—with Leia. Why was she screaming?”

Vader didn’t know how to explain how the darkness had moved under Leia’s will. How her emotions had poured out—so much fear and pain and absolute rage—and crushed the man’s eyes, skull, and brain. But he tried his best. “She—”

“She killed him, didn’t she?” Bail’s voice was small and pained. “That was the Twi’lek you mentioned earlier, wasn’t it?”

A nod.

Bail squeaked, “Did he deserve it?”

“That,” Vader said. “And more. Much, much more.”

Bail bit his bottom lip. “She’ll…she’ll never be the same after this…”

“No, she will not.”

Bail looked away and pressed a tanned fist against his temple. He took a step and hissed, eyes narrowed. “You—” A breath. “You were alone with her for a while. Did you…did you tell her? About you—about her?”

“No.”

Surprise flooded every available emotion in the Force. “You didn’t—you didn’t tell her?”

“No.” A pause. “I did not.”

“Why—why not?”

He’d had an opportunity. He’d had _several,_ in fact. But he couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell her about their connection—her paternity.

And he didn’t know why…

“There were more important matters at hand,” he said instead.

“More important matters? More important _how?”_

Vader twisted a few knobs on the ship’s control panel; the lights dimmed so Leia could sleep without interruption. He faced Bail. “Jabba mentioned that he was instructed to keep her healthy, that a _he_ had asked to keep her alive. So he was paid to kidnap her.” He crossed his arms. “So there’s someone out there with a grudge against you…or against me.”

“But only a handful of people knew about—”

“Jabba didn’t seem all that surprised to see me.” Vader made sure he could see his daughter’s sleeping form through a crack in the door and sat down. “He was ready and willing to hand her over without issue.”

Bail folded his arms across his chest. “And you killed him before he could tell you _who_ that _he_ was, didn’t you?”

Vader said nothing and received a foul scoff.

“Of _course_ you did. You never use your head! Classic Ana— _ack!”_ Bail clutched his throat; his eyes watered.

“I told you _no._ ”

A head jerked up and down and Vader released his invisible hold. Bail rubbed his neck. “You’d think that you’d control yourself, what with her in the next room and all—”

“Having Leia in my possession decreases your value,” Vader admitted, leaning back in his chair, “tenfold.”

“—and if she catches you, you’d better have an apology lined up. Though I’m sure you haven’t said something along those lines in a while. So repeat after me: I’m… _what?”_

Bail shifted backward and Vader stood. There was fear in the air. It permeated the Dark Side of the Force and he lapped it up like the dog everybody thought he was.

He took a step. Then another.

Did Bail understand that his life was just one more obstacle? Just one more thing he had to obliterate before he could continue his life with his daughter—his newfound world.

Bail must’ve, because he visibly shrunk as the dark swirled about him, encased him, engulfed him. Nipped at him and whispered the ugly truth of his fate. Screamed at him and forced him to his knees. Compelled him to tremble and shiver as the darkness crept closer and closer to his skin. Up his spine and—

Vader backed away. Slowly.

So slowly.

Because Bail still had value. Still had a semblance of worth; though, it was meager at best—barely there—and it waned with every useless minute. Every moment spent arguing or discussing things that _weren’t_ the suspected identities of Leia’s kidnappers.

They needed to figure out who hired Jabba’s crew. Needed to sift through everybody who might’ve held a grudge against either one of them. And Vader already had a list in his head—it was lengthy and well-deserved—but he didn’t know Bail’s.

He _needed_ that list. And he needed Bail to cooperate. So he’d give him a chance, one final chance, before he’d _take it._ Use _any_ means necessary to get it.

The darkness retreated from Bail’s skin. Drifted further and further away before it disappeared entirely.

Vader took an additional step backward. “You—”

“My life means _nothing_ to you,” Bail spat as his teeth chattered. He stood and rubbed his goose-prickled arms. “Nothing whatsoever.”

“It does not.”

Bail stumbled forward and swept his arms wide. “Y-you know what? _Whatever._ I don’t care about my life. I don’t care that you want to end it. I only care about one thing: Leia. And we should be focused on figuring out who hired Jabba’s crew, _not_ about my worth in your eyes.”

Vader couldn’t agree more. “Do you have a list?”

“Of enemies?” A snort. “Hardly. Do you?”

“Of course.”

Bail straightened. “Then spill.”

Vader paused. There were so many people who hated him, who wanted him dead. Who would use everything and anything they possibly could to hurt him, to _end_ him. And his list didn’t stop at single individuals. There were groups—entire _planets—_ who wanted to string him up. And he didn’t know where to start, so he listed everything; every place, every group, and every person with even the slightest motivations.

“…And finally—” It had taken _minutes_ to name them all. “—the Rebellion.”

“Cross them off,” Bail snapped, eyes narrowing. “ _Nobody_ in the Rebellion would do something like this.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just _know._ ”

Vader sat down and clenched his knees. “There were rumors that Alderaan was secretly supplying the Rebels with information and resources.” A pause. “Thank you for confirming them.”

Bail’s cheeks tightened into a snarl. “Breha doesn’t know—Alderaan doesn’t know.”

A lie, but Vader would let it slide; he’d crush Alderaan and their treasonous tendencies…later.

“My wife _can’t_ know,” Bail continued. “Understood?”

“A different matter for another time,” Vader conceded. “Now, your list.”

Bail glared but said, “Well, there’s—” His list was short and almost mindless and it took _seconds_ to divulge. And Vader felt uncomfortable that the man was so well liked, even as a spy—especially when he, personally, detested him. Loathed him. “—and a senator from Bespin, though I never caught her name. She didn’t like my bill on gaseous goods and their transport methods. Something about unethical taxes…”

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Did Jabba say anything else?” Bail asked in a huff. “Anything that might be helpful?”

“No. Just that Leia was _difficult._ ”

Brown eyes looked away, toward the door where Leia slept. “I didn’t know she was sensitive.” The truth; interesting. “I mean, I should’ve expected it, what with you and all…but she never said a word. Not to me, at least.” He frowned. “Though, I’m sure Artoo or Threepio probably knew. They were always somewhere nearby.”

Vader said nothing, just stared.

Bail turned, expression startled. “You don’t think somebody else found out about her sensitivity, do you?”

Vader crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Explain.”

“Well, believe it or not—” Bail’s tone was sarcastic; Vader detested sarcasm when he wasn’t the one using it. “—Force-sensitive beings are extremely valuable on the black market. They’re rare—a dying breed.” Vader knew that—he _hunted_ them. Collected them. And Bail knew that, too. “Maybe somebody just wanted her because she’s valuable.”

Something rippled through the Force.

“No,” Vader said, listening, feeling. “I don’t think Jabba knew the full extent her gift—he seemed startled by her powers. Interested and knowledgeable about them, for sure, but very unaware of her full potential." He shifted in his chair. "And besides, that explanation seems too simple. Something about this feels…personal.”

Bail’s expression dimmed. “Ah. Space wizard powers?”

A nod. “Space wizard powers.”

“Well, great.” A pair of tan hands went skyward. “Can you do what you did with Leia and use those powers to find out who did this?”

“That’s not how the Force works.”

A glare. “Well that’s awfully convenient.”

“And extremely frustrating.”

“Well.” Bail rolled his shoulders and touched his temple. “How about going inside her head? Just to check and see if she saw or heard something that might be helpful.”

Vader’s helmet shook from side to side. “If I go into her head without her knowing or allowing me inside, there could be disastrous consequences. We could all get hurt both mentally and physically if something went wrong. And though _I_ could deal with whatever Force-attack she would happen to dole out, I don’t want _her_ in more pain.”

Bail flopped into the copilot’s chair after an agreeable growl. “So we’re back to a cluster-ton of potential evil-doers, people who have a vendetta against you. Or me.”

“Precisely.”

“We’ll _never_ find out who did this. They’re too many people who hate you.”

Vader said nothing for a long while. Then, “We do know one thing.” Bail looked at him, eyes tired but glowering. “Whoever hired Jabba and his crew could afford it—could pay top dollar to kidnap a princess within her own palace.”

A nod. “Great. How many people does that cross off your list?”

There was a silent moment as Vader thought. “Not enough,” he concluded. “Not nearly enough.”

“Exactly,” Bail said, snorting. “Back to square one.”

The ship chimed and the blurs of hyperspace disappeared.

“We can’t be home already.” Bail stepped toward the dash. “It’s too soo—” He turned, recognizing the planet that was steadily drifting into focus. “Coruscant? You can’t be serious? We need to return to Alderaan!”

“To the place where Leia was originally kidnapped?” Vader frowned. “No. Never.”

“She’s going _home,_ Vader,” Bail snapped. “To Alderaan, with me. Not to Coruscant, with you.”

Vader exhaled, then turned and stopped.

Leia was in the doorway, covered almost completely from head to toe in a thin, ill-fitting medical gown. There were bacta patches and gauze covering each of her arms and most of her face and she was holding her left side with one bandaged fist. She held most of her weight uncomfortably on her heels—trying her damnedest to balance herself—and she was looking up, brown eyes lit with intrigue, frustration, and pain.

Vader wondered how long she’d been standing there, listening to their conversation.

Not long, he’d bet.

Because her face was contorting unpleasantly into a painful scowl, unable to keep upright for much longer. And though she was clearly in agony, struggling to maintain her balance, her thoughts rang through their Force-enabled bond, loud and clear. Concise.

_Home._

“This is just a temporary delay,” he tried to explain.

Bail grunted and found his jaw invisibly clamped shut.

Leia looked at the dash, then at her adoptive father, then back at him. Something tingled in the Force—his lie—and she glared and clutched her side a little harder. _Liar._ Her eyes welled with tears. _I want to go…home. With Daddy._

“And you shall,” Vader said. Because it was _true._ She _was_ going home with her father, whether she knew it or not.

 _Home._ She whimpered, not understanding the weird glimmer of truth in the Force that Vader most-definitely caught. _Home. Now!_

She stomped at the last word and the dash _crunched_ at her outburst. She shrunk back on instinct, afraid of herself—afraid of what she had done and what she _could_ do.

And Vader didn’t know what to say. So he glanced at the destroyed control module and said, “Don’t you want to learn about the Force? How to control it? How to use it?”

Leia paused and a tear fell from her right eye, fat and slippery. _Home._ She rubbed her cheek. Looked at him with bloodshot eyes. Opened her mouth and whispered, “Please.”

Just like before, his heart shattered—whatever was remaining, at least.

But he didn’t know what to say to her plead, so he crouched and spread his arms wide, hoping she would run into them and embrace him—understand his reasons for going to Coruscant.

But she didn’t. She stumbled to Bail, instead. Clutched onto Bail’s leg and hand like it would help—like it would change his mind.

And it…didn’t.

“Until we find out who took you,” Vader said, getting to his feet, “you cannot return to Alderaan. It isn’t…safe. Whoever took you could try again.”

Bail reached down and collected Leia into his arms. She looked oddly out-of-place and right-at-home at the same time, and Vader found himself fuming at the image.

“He’s right,” Bail eventually said with a heavy sigh. “I can take you to my apartment on Coruscant until we figure a few things out.” Leia wrapped her arms around Bail’s neck. He squeezed her close and breathed into her hair. “Would you like that, Leia? You can see where Daddy works and where he lives when he’s not at home. Get a taste for your future.”

Leia’s voice was small and pained. “O-okay.”

She pressed her forehead against her adoptive father’s throat and immediately fell asleep. Bail bounced her like a newborn—comforted her like he knew what he was doing, like he had years upon _years_ of practice—but his eyes held malice. Murder. “Congratulations, Vader,” he spat.

It wasn’t a victory he enjoyed, but Vader knew what was best—for him, for Leia—and he accepted it without pause.

The ship bleeped; they had been given wordless permission to continue into Coruscant’s atmosphere—the perks of being the Emperor’s enforcer—and Vader stalked to the controls to take them the rest of the way in.

He sat, Bail sat—Leia nestled carefully on her adoptive father’s lap—and they landed in his private hangar.

“I’m taking my daughter to my apartment,” Bail said in a hushed whisper, tone enraged. He got up to stand, but found that he couldn’t take a single step. “Vader—”

“You’ll stay at _my_ residence until we can narrow our list down. Besides the Emperor’s palace, it’s the safest place on Coruscant.”

Bail shifted Leia’s weight around and let her head loll lifelessly against his shoulder. He looked straight into Vader’s mask, straight through the tinted visor and into his yellow eyes. “You can’t have it both ways, you know.”

Vader glared. “Excuse me?”

“You said that you killed Anakin Skywalker. Destroyed him because he was weak.”

“I did—”

“And Leia is _Anakin’s_ daughter.”

“She is—”

“Well, then.” Bail frowned, like his words meant something, like he wasn’t grasping at straws, trying to delay the inevitable. “Who are you? Darth Vader or Anakin Skywalker?”

“I am—”

“Darth Vader.” Bail couldn’t ignore the trembling cold that flooded through him. He shivered. “You’re Darth kriffing Vader.”

“I am her _father._ ”

“No, Anakin Skywalker was her father. And he’s dead. And with…with _her_ gone, too, that makes Leia an orphan. Makes her free to be legally adopted.”

“No. That’s not—”

“And that’s what Breha and I did. Upon her parents’ deaths, we adopted her. Legally and without issue.”

Vader stood. Loomed. Posture threatening and index finger outstretched. “Without issue because you _hid_ her from me.”

Bail matched Vader’s stance, even with a significant height difference and a little girl cradled in his arms. He cupped Leia’s exposed ear to shield her from his tone and snarled, “Because you’re _not_ her father. Not anymore. You _killed_ him.”

“Leia is mine by _blood_.”

“And she is mine by _law_.”

Vader clenched his fists. “A bit of data doesn’t matter. A few scribbles and a ridiculous claim _doesn’t matter_.”

“No,” Bail admitted, tone softening. “You’re right. What matters is Leia. Always…Leia.”

“Precisely.”

“Well then.” Bail released Leia’s ear and stroked her tangled hair until his fingers caught a few knots. He frowned and patted her head. “Since we’re in agreement, I suppose you have a decision to make.”

“A decision?”

“Is her father—is Leia’s _real_ father—still alive? Because if he is, he needs to understand that Leia is better off with me. On Alderaan.” A pause. “He needs to understand…that the man her father has become can’t give her the attention that she needs. Or the love that she deserves.”

Silence.

Bail sniffed and strode out of the ship. He stopped at the opposite side of the hangar and waited, shushing Leia and rocking her back and forth as she slept.

Vader glared. And though Bail wasn’t around to hear…

“We’ll see.”


	5. The Past's Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I've only watched the movies and first two seasons of the Clone Wars, so if there's something wrong with the nitty-gritty boring stuff of this chapter, I wholeheartedly apologize. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to apologize for those nitty-gritty boring parts in general. They might not be fun to read, but they're very necessary for the last chapter.

Three days.

Leia had been bedridden for three solid days so she could heal and recoup; she slept for most of it, tranquil and quiet. But when she woke, she screamed and kicked, fought no one and everyone as hard as she could. Her hands sought air and her fingers clenched into fists; the curtains wrapped around her bedframe time and time again, shredding into large and ungodly chunks atop her bedspread and floor. Bits of fabric splayed about on the carpet like wisps from tales of old, waving unusual greetings as they danced to the melody of her shrieks.

Each time, Bail watched his daughter cry out for a moment before he fought through a flurry of tiny fists, feet, and Force-amplified, invisible blows. It took him a while to learn to avoid the telltale whispers of child-strengthened and untrained Force attacks, but when he did, he parted her wily appendages and cupped her face. Patted her freshly-washed and brushed hair and cooed a lullaby from his home world until she calmed, tight in his embrace.

Vader watched.

Every. Time.

And as he did, a fit of jealously spread through his heart. It should’ve been him soothing his daughter, him wrapped within her tiny arms. Him patting her back and whispering sweet nothings in her ears until she stilled and quieted against his chest.

But it wasn’t.

She had chosen Bail. Time and time again, she’d sought Bail’s comfort. She would reach for him, claim him, then slowly calm within his well-practiced and nurturing arms until her sniffles trailed away.

And it angered him.

Leia must’ve noticed the waves of hatred fizzling through the Force, because she looked up, brown eyes filled with shimmering tears, and caught his gaze—even through the haze of his mask.

_I’m…sorry._

He may have been jealous of Bail, enraged with Bail, but at least he had one thing the annoying viceroy didn’t. One well-enjoyed triumph: a direct mental connection. A guarantee that he could hear Leia’s voice, no matter how faint or pained or frail.

Vader nodded at his daughter and sat at the foot of her bed.

Bail shot him a cold scowl.

 _I’m…sorry._ Leia sniffled and gestured to the tattered curtains. _For ruining your—_

“It’s okay, Princess.” And it was. When would she finally learn that it was? No matter what she did, no matter what she said, he’d always forgive her. Always understand. Because, whether she knew it or not, she was _his._ And he’d love and cherish her unconditionally. Forever and always.

He pressed a hand against her leg. Squeezed. “The curtains mean nothing—the items in this room mean nothing; they can be bought or sold, destroyed and repaired. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

Leia bit her quivering bottom lip and nodded. Took a deep breath and calmed. Slowly _._

Vader stared, enamored; he’d been gazing at her for the past three days, but no matter how long and hard he looked, he always found something different. Always found a piece of him—or a piece of _her_ —that he hadn’t seen before. And he couldn’t look away, especially now that she was awake. Especially now, when she was bathed and almost healed; he could see _her_ irises in his deep-set eyes, _her_ hair hiding his hairline, _her_ dimples outlining his lips, and _her_ expressions mashed and amplified within his own.

Leia was…perfect. A beautiful matrimony of _her_ and him and he let a fragment of that thought float through their bond—

It was too late before he realized his mistake, his weakness. But the damage was already done and Leia was already looking at him, eyes hopeful and glittering. She opened her mouth.

“Mama?” Her voice was soft—barely there—but Bail and Vader heard it, nonetheless.

Bail’s glare intensified, his hold with it.

“You…” A breath, exhausted and weak. “You knew…Mama?”

“He did, Sweetling,” Bail whispered as he pressed his lips against her ear. “Before your biological mother died, he knew her.”

“Well?” Leia asked.

“Better than anybody else,” Bail said with a frustrated sigh.

Leia looked at her adoptive father, then back at him. “How?”

“A story for a different time,” Bail said as he squeezed her tight and let go.

If Vader had been in Bail’s place, he would’ve held on forever and ever and told her as many stories as she wanted. Even though it pained him to remember, he would’ve fought through and regaled her with tales of Padmé and her triumphs and their love. He would’ve told her how proud his angel would’ve been to have a strong and beautiful daughter like Leia to carry on her genes. But…

Bail wiggled off Leia’s bed and tucked her in. Tight. “It’s time for you to get some rest. Some _real_ rest this time,” he said with a carefree smile and a peck to her forehead—things Vader found incredibly irritating since he could do _neither_. “So close your eyes…go to sleep. We’ll be here when you wake.”

Leia’s expression held confusion, but she obeyed without question. She closed her eyes and pressed her head against the pillow. And after a few pitter-pattering breaths, she fell into a deep sleep, query forgotten for another time.

Bail walked to the other side of the room and gestured for Vader to follow.

He did, albeit grudgingly.

Bail ran a hand through his hair—it was yet _another_ thing Vader found irritating about the man, but he said nothing. “Leia’s always known that she’s adopted.” A pause. “There was no reason to keep that secret from her, but I don’t want you to confuse her with whatever… _this_ is.”

“This?”

“Yes,” Bail snapped, gesturing awkwardly between Sith Lord and child, “ _this.”_

“I don’t underst—“

“You had your chance to tell Leia the truth. It’s gone and passed and now it’s time to move on.” Bail crossed his arms and scowled. “She’ll be returning to Alderaan—to her _home—_ the moment we figure out who hired Jabba’s crew. And since you have no intention of telling her, don’t mention her mother. Don’t mention how you _knew_ her mother. You’ll confuse or upset her. And I don’t want her more upset than she already is.”

“I—” Vader stopped and looked away. “Those memories are…painful, anyway.”

Bail’s expression softened. Marginally. He reached out with a human, comforting hand. Stopped when he realized who he was about to soothe. Retracted said hand and crossed his arms, capturing them like they’d betray him at any instant. “They don’t have to be painful, you know.”

Vader said nothing.

Bail continued, “Regardless of the last memory you have of _her,_ hers of _you_ was significantly brighter.”

Still nothing. Then, “How so?”

Bail let a sad smile cross his face. “Even to her last breath, she had hope for you. Said there was light in you. Said she could see it clear as day and longed to see it again.”

Vader turned away and clenched his fists.

There was…no light. Not anymore. It had died after he’d dismembered Windu in the Chancellor’s office and pledged his allegiance to the Dark Side; it’d died long ago, never to spurt forth again. But still, she’d seen. Still, she’d _hoped._

It _hurt_ to say it, but it needed to be said. “She was a fool.” Like he had been. Like so many others had been.

Bail frowned and his face slowly turned crimson. Anger radiated off of him in thick waves. “You’re the fool, Vader,” he snapped. “You claimed to love her, yet you disrespect her memory and final words by wearing that suit, by enforcing the Emperor’s might.”

Vader balked, then straightened. “I spread _peace_ throughout the galaxy,” he argued. “A peace she couldn’t see since she was blinded by _Jedi_ motivations.”

“ _Blinded?”_ Bail took an irate step forward and jabbed his index finger out. He poked it whenever he saw fit. “Blinded by Jedi motivations? You mean the ones you, yourself, fought so hard to maintain—to spread?”

“Until I discovered the truth—”

“Oh! You mean when a solitary man _manipulated_ you and turned you against everything you held dear— _everyone_ you held dear? Forced you to believe he was your only friend—that you were all alone when you clearly _weren’t—_ then slay all that you had loved and all that you might hope to love?”

That…wasn’t true. None of that was true.

His master had been there to _guide_ him, not manipulate him. And he hadn’t used his guidance to turn Anakin against anything. _They_ —his friends, the Council, the Order, _his wife—_ had turned against _him. Had betrayed **him.**_

Anakin had spent _years_ watching the Order change their ideals and philosophies to fit their own bigoted needs. He’d watched peace, prosperity, compassion, and understanding mutate into destruction, cruelty, accusation, and _war._ Watched entire planets and ecosystems be cleaved in two until they crumbled; shattered. Watched as he was forced to abandon every person, place, or thing _just_ when the galaxy needed his help most…

And all while commanding countless people, soldiers, and _friends_ into battle, just to see them mere hours or minutes later, sprawled out and bleeding. Dying or dead. Mindlessly. Needlessly…

He had hesitated when they’d instructed. He had failed them when sent out. They had been displeased, repulsed by him. They’d rejected him, threatened to take away all he held dear. Time and time and time again. But still, he’d touted their lessons. Still, he’d preached the godliness of their decisions.

Until…

_Her._

And then…

_The baby._

They…they would’ve ousted him if— _when—_ they found out. He knew it—he _knew_ it. They would’ve scoffed at him. Degraded him. Taken his burgeoning family _away_ from him.

And he couldn’t bear to see it. Couldn’t bear to see his angel in pain—crying and dying during the fits of labor. Couldn’t bear to hear her final breaths pant his name. Couldn’t bear to see her face, lifeless and devoid of that spark he loved so much; dead like so many others before her. And he couldn’t watch his child—an _infant_ —scream as she was ripped from his arms, only to suffer the same fate as him.

Molded. Used. Rejected.

…Destroyed.

They had…they had pushed him into a corner. Had forced him to take advantage of the dark that had been steadily building around him, embracing him, lifting him. And he had _used_ that darkness—just once, just to taste—and it had worked so well and made so much sense.

So. Much. Sense.

More sense than anything— _anything—_ the Order and the Council had ever forced down his throat.

But it had been _wrong._ And if he had admitted his fall—when they found out—he would’ve been rejected. Ousted.

Just like he feared.

But Palpatine was there. Palpatine understood. So he hadn’t hesitated when he’d been instructed to cleanse the Temple of the Jedi and their like. Of the filth they had taught and hoped to teach again until the galaxy collapsed against their will. Then and only then, the galaxy— _his_ galaxy—had been safe and allowed to heal, and he made a promise that it would never again suffer under the Jedi Council’s inferior, all-seeing might.

But then _he_ had _ruined it_ when he turned _her_ against him. Challenged him—

_You were my brother, Anakin!_

Destroyed him…

…and the family that he had longed to protect. _Save…_

“I—”

He didn’t owe Bail an explanation. Didn’t owe Bail a single utterance about his destruction and immediate rebirth. Didn’t need to explain how Darth Vader had risen from Anakin Skywalker’s ashes after learning that everything the Jedi had preached—and everything that he had once sought to uphold and spread—had been a lie. A horrible, earth-shattering lie…

And all of it confirmed when he’d been left behind to die.

To burn on the shores of Mustafar…

…alone.

Bail mistook his silence as understanding. As consideration. Continued, “We _loved_ you, Anakin. Obi Wan, Yoda, Padmé—kriffing hell, _even the Clone Troopers—_ we all _loved_ you.”

Vader ignored the use of that weak-minded child’s name, and instead glared at the misuse of that word.

_Love._

Long ago—so very long ago—he had told his angel that the Jedi encouraged love— _embraced_ love—but time and time again, he’d been told that it was a form of attachment. That he shouldn’t _have_ it or spread it. That he should reject it whenever possible or else it would consume him. Corrupt him.

But he never understood why…

And it was probably the main reason why he had failed them and their teachings.

“Jedi don’t love.”

Bail frowned and continued, “Do the Sith? Does Palpatine?”

A step forward, fists clenched. “My master loves the galaxy—”

“Oh, really?” Bail snorted. “Does he love the galaxy, or does he just love _ruling over_ it? Because from what I’ve seen—”

“And what _have_ you seen, Viceroy?”

What had a man holed up in a palace seen? What could compare to Vader’s own experiences with death and destruction _before_ he had adopted his moniker?

Bail’s frown lengthened. “Poverty. Fear. Starvation. Homelessness. _Slavery._ ”

“All of those—”

“All of those things existed _before_ the Empire,” Bail conceded, “but never at a rate we’re seeing now.”

“Because you’re _rebelling!”_

“Because the Empire is _wrong!”_

Leia mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep. Both men spared her a glance, then regarded each other, seething and panting. One thing was clear: their argument was getting out of hand. If they continued at the pace they were going, Leia would wake, screeching and flailing.

Again.

Bail sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want to get into a political or philosophical discussion with you—”

“Then don’t.”

“—but you only need to ask yourself one thing, and one thing only.”

“And what’s that?”

Bail straightened his collar and looked at Leia. Stared at her with compassion and sorrow, love and care. Then pity. “Since you _claim_ to be Leia’s father—” He said it like it wasn’t true. Like Leia wasn’t his, by blood. Like Leia wasn’t his, even though their bond was clear, despite the years they’d spent apart. “—what kind of a future do you want for her?”

The answer was obvious. Easy. So very easy. “A bright one.”

Bail sighed, sad and frustrated. “So ask yourself, Vader: will your Empire allow it? In its present state, can Leia prosper in it? Would you be delighted if she inherited it?” A pause. “Because from what I’ve seen, the Empire just crushes things and stomps on people, no matter their station. It’s not filled with happiness or light or love. And it sure as hell doesn’t allow hope.”

Bail turned and walked away, toward Leia’s bed. He sat and tousled her hair and kissed her forehead, and Vader found himself stewing in both jealousy and rage.

Because Bail was…wrong. The galaxy had hope; it had happiness. He’d _seen_ it…

Somewhere.

In some form.

But he couldn’t remember when…

_Knock, knock, knock._

Three near-silent raps on the door, and Vader used it as an escape. From Bail. From the questions lingering in his head. From his daughter’s most-certain fit if she happened to wake.

He opened the door and strode outside. To his captain, Firmus Peitt.

A nod. “Captain.”

A datapad-laden bow. “Sir.”

“Is there a reason for your disturbance?”

“Ah, yes, sir.” Piett fumbled with the stack of devices in his hands. Two tumbled to the ground and Vader caught them with the Force and retuned them to Piett’s pile. “Thank you, sir.” The man straightened his tower and looked up. “The Emperor, sir. He’s requesting your audience. Immediately.”

“Of _course_ he is,” Vader spat. The Emperor always had _shavit_ timing.

“S-sir?”

Vader disappeared behind the door with a wave and Bail looked up, like he _knew._

“I told you that you couldn’t give her the attention she deserves.”

It would be _so_ satisfying to feel Bail’s life bleed into the Force, and Vader was counting down the seconds until the man had exhausted his usefulness.

But now…was not the time.

“I am needed—”

“ _Obviously.”_

“—elsewhere.”

Vader glowered and let his displeasure known.

Bail shrugged off the dark’s steadily-creeping embrace. “So you’re leaving?”

_“Obviously.”_

“Now?”

“Of course.”

Another snort. “Well, while you’re there, why don’t you ask your _master—”_ He said it like he _knew_ and like it was a bad thing; not like it was a title of honor deserved after years of crafting and perfecting a skill, a delicate, ancient art. “—about that day.”

Bail didn’t need to say _which_ day. Vader knew.

“Why don’t you ask him about how he tried to save her, when she wasn’t even there. Why don’t you ask him about Leia, when he didn’t even know that she’d been born. Why don’t you ask him why he _lied_ to you— _used_ you— _Ack!”_

Bail didn’t bother to clutch his throat anymore. He just dealt with the constriction with a strangled expression across his face. “ _Ack—hssss.”_

“Daddy!”

Vader released his hold instantly, gaze flicking below, to Leia’s frightened eyes and shivering form.

Bail wheezed.

“Daddy!”

Leia scrambled onto her feet and pressed her hands against her adoptive father’s chest. He inhaled, slow and deliberate, and she calmed when he finally regained his breath.

“I’m okay, Sweetling,” Bail said with a forced smile. “Something was just…caught in my throat, is all.”

Leia didn’t look convinced. She looked at Vader—stared at Vader—and her eyes filled with tears. Wet with sadness—

Then rage.

Her gift responded on its own. Darkness coiled around her small form like a serpent; it spread wide and thin and asked what she wanted, what she needed or desired. It whispered sweet nothings, but Leia didn’t respond. It waited a while, still coiling, still cooing. Then it berated her hesitation and screamed at her weakness.

She flinched at its screams, grimaced as it swiped, and just when Vader thought she’d submit to its demands, she batted it away with a feral flick of her fingers. She cringed when it was gone. Clenched her hands after it had disappeared. Then looked at her fingers like it had bitten her, scalded her.

Her eyes flicked to him.

And he looked back, like he hadn’t been threatened. Like he hadn’t felt her desire to inflict some sort of punishment on his psyche or body—what was left of it, at least—for hurting her adoptive father.

A moment or two passed and her face softened, apologetic and guilty. Unsure of herself and her abilities. “You’re leaving?”

It was barely a whisper, but Vader heard it, clear as day.

“Yes, Princess,” he said. “I’ve been summoned.”

“Summoned?” She let her confusion of its meaning ripple through their bond.

“Called away,” he explained.

She nodded and crinkled her nose. Deepened her stare. “Will you be back?”

Vader blinked. “Would you like that?”

Leia looked left and right, considering, pondering. Then pools of brown settled on his mask. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll be back before you know it,” he promised. He would— _he would._ Because she had asked, because she _still_ wanted him, even after what he had done. What _she knew_ he had done.

Leia smiled, soft and sad. Then collapsed onto her knees and dug in her blankets. She searched until she grew slightly frustrated, then reached under her pillow and said, “Ah-ha!”

She stood, clutching a piece of paper close to her chest, and held it out—the drawing that Vader had stolen from her bedroom and used to lure her out of her hiding space in Jabba’s palace—and opened her mouth. “It’s Mama,” she explained.

Vader grasped the drawing and gazed at the image—a brown-haired girl with glowing skin, floating beautifully atop a thicket of trees—and couldn’t understand why he didn’t see it before…

Except that she couldn’t know—hadn’t heard or seen him call Padmé by that name. That glorious name born from that fateful day when they’d first met. He…couldn’t believe it. Didn’t understand it.

And a sliver of that feeling must have slipped through his durasteel-tight shields, because Leia walked across her mattress and stood in front of him, so close to him. “She’s so pretty she glows,” she said, reaching. Pointing. “Like an angel.” Another smile. “She protects me—loves me. And now she can protect you, too.”

Vader…didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do.

It could’ve been a cruel coincidence, just a child who’d heard the same stories he had and drawn the most beautiful thing she could think of—her mother.

But Padmé was dead—not an angel—and Leia knew that. _She knew it._ And she’d never even properly _met_ the woman, but still, she had drawn her mother’s form. Her mother’s protective, loving form.

The sheet felt heavy in his mechanical hand.

“Have you—Have you seen your mother?” he asked, slow. So slow.

Because he didn’t want to hear the reply. Didn’t want to find out that a semblance of Padmé had existed somewhere in the galaxy without his knowledge.

After everything he’d done…

But he had to know. _Had to know._

“No,” Leia said.

Vader exhaled.

“But I feel her.” She clenched her hands and pressed them against her chest, against her heart. “Here,” she said, still smiling. Then she looked up and extended her arms, pressed her fingers against his chest—where his heart was beating at an unbelievable rate—and said, “Here.”

Something… _wrong_ poured out of her fingers. And it took Vader mere moments to figure out what it was before he took a step back.

Her touch had been…pleasant. So crisp and bright and airy—the Light Side of the Force—and he didn’t know what to do about her sudden switch. But for now, he’d ignore it, because something else was addling his thoughts.

“You think I need protection?”

Had she seen something? Had she felt something? Was she burdened with visions of other peoples’ futures like he was? Because if she was—if she had—he needed to know. Needed to find out all the information he could.

But Leia only smiled. “Today—” She pressed the drawing close to his chest, close to his heart, and didn’t stop until they were holding it there, together. Her fingers enclosed over his and another blinding and crisp blur passed through the wax-smeared sheet and into him. He recoiled and her smile grew sad. Soft. “—you do.”

He wanted to press her further, but her eyes blurred with exhaustion and she yawned. Then she sank into her bed and pressed her head against the pillow. She fell asleep, and Bail tucked her in.

Bail turned to say something, but Vader was already closing the door to his daughter’s room, long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is already written and edited...so if you're interested, I may post it early. ;P


	6. Papa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter is a few days early. Please enjoy.
> 
> Forewarning, there are some parts that are very, very hard to read. But I can't tell you what they are because it'll ruin the moment(s). So...read at your own risk, and I apologize if some pieces make you uncomfortable.

It felt like hours, but it was probably only a few minutes. Thirty standard minutes, give or take. It could’ve been more— _felt_ like more—but Vader wasn’t sure.

He did know one thing with absolute certainty, however: he was still in the same position, stoic, still— _kneeling—_ before his master.

And he’d never hated it as much as he did this day.

Because he should’ve been elsewhere—with his daughter and Bail, finding out who hired Jabba’s crew, _killing_ them, _ending them—_ yet here he was, genuflecting. Prostrating himself before a wrinkled and cloaked—practically _crippled_ —old man.

The Emperor.

 _His_ Emperor—his master.

The one who had claimed that Padmé had been a lost cause. That he, with all his talents and supreme skill—even though he had promised, _he had promised—_ couldn’t save her. Couldn’t pick up the struggling pieces of her lifeform and stitch them back together…

Vader twitched.

He couldn’t ignore Bail’s questions. They lingered and circled and pitter-pattered across each brain cell, annoying his psyche to no end…

_Why don’t you ask about him about how he tried to save her, when she wasn’t even there. Why don’t you ask him about Leia, when he didn’t even know that she’d been born. Why don’t you ask him why he lied to you—used you—_

Each word—each circling sentence—bothered him. Distracted him. And it was all made worse by the Force.

Because Bail’s words, memories, and confessions—kriff, anything he’d said or done, no matter the content or context—rang true. Loudly. _Infuriatingly._ And Vader didn’t understand why he hadn’t questioned any of it before...

Had Sidious even _seen_ Padmé on Mustafar, alive and breathing? Had he really evaluated her health or touched her with his cold and withered hands? Had he smelled her perfume or felt her fear—her anguish—as he administered whatever failure of a healing technique he claimed to know?

Had he? _Could_ he?

Because according to Bail, she’d been taken to Polis Masa immediately after his battle with Obi-Wan. She’d been stolen away from the fiery shores of that treacherous lava planet and taken to a medical bay, where she gave birth to Leia—beautiful, strong, healthy Leia, who Sidious had _never once_ mentioned, had _never once_ sensed—before slowly slipping away. And all while muttering about how she’d seen her husband’s light—

Had faith in him.

Hope for him.

Never once, giving up on him.

Never once…

…betraying him.

Everything was twisting about in his head, like two serpents engaged in the worst battle he’d ever seen or felt. They bit, squirmed, and dripped venom; destroyed everything and anything they could. And each one vied to come out on top, each one demanded his belief—his trust.

But only one had ever _earned_ that right, before—Sidious.

And he had to believe— _had to believe—_ that Bail’s words, memories, and confessions were lies. Just well-thought, well-rehearsed, and well-meddled with fabrications told specifically to sow doubt and destruction between him and his master. And it was impressive; each lie had been well-placed and molded together to be utilized now— _right now_ —when Vader was before his longtime friend and confidant, kneeling and alone.

Awaiting instruction.

It was…easy to recognize that Bail’s fabrications didn’t matter. Vader knew where his loyalties laid, and he had the foresight to recognize that he’d made this same choice once before, so very long ago. He’d made this choice and stuck with it. Publically. Violently. _For years._ And a piece of him knew it would be child’s play to cripple Bail’s words until they submitted underneath Sith might.

But still…

The thought of Padmé’s final panting breaths and words hung heavy on his mind—hung heavy on his heart—and it angered him. Pushed him steadily over the edge.

He quickly found himself self-loathing, second-guessing, and glowering at the floor. Clenching his knee, but never looking up.

He suddenly wanted to leave—wanted to return to Leia—and he tired of Sidious’s petty games.

“What is thy bidding, my master?”

Strange.

Those words had never sounded so…wrong before. So horribly, irreversibly wrong. And Bail’s voice from so long ago rang in his ears…

_If you would’ve kept her, she would’ve become another one of the Emperor’s slaves._

Was…was that what he was? A slave?

_No._

Something bright and slightly annoying—the Light Side of the Force from Leia’s touch—answered. **_Yes._** And he swiped at it until it flitted away.

The annoyance was gone, but it still fluttered deep in his heart. Because he hadn’t…he hadn’t seen it that way before. Palpatine and Sidious—one and the same, but referred to as separate entities for the sake of the galaxy’s wellbeing—had always called him a _friend._ Had always cherished his loyalty and showed him the mysteries of his art.

Yes, the Emperor had slaves. More slaves than one man should _ever_ own. But Vader had never considered himself one of them. He’d never been held to their standards and never debased himself like they had.

And yet—

_Master._

_Slave._

He shook his head, remembering. Knowing…

He'd been one before—before the Jedi had freed him from his shackles and explosive chip—so he knew what it looked like. Knew what it entailed even though his prior master hadn’t been nearly as cruel as the others on Tatooine (Watto usually left him alone as long as he did his chores—cleaned the shop and fixed all of the tech and droids that they serviced). And he’d once vowed to never slip into it again, vowed to save all those entangled in it until he could eventually destroy it, completely. _Mercilessly._

But still, he hadn’t recognized it when it was shoved so blatantly in front of him…

_On him._

Kneeling on the ground, before his teacher’s—no, _master’s—_ throne. Appearing vulnerable and weakened as Sidious looked down and sneered.

“Lord Vader, my _friend.”_

Had it always sounded like that? So condescending and insulting? Perhaps. But maybe it was because he was listening for it, listening to the slightest sneer or quiver and overthinking what it meant. But even if he was, he knew one thing: it wasn’t the first time Sidious had used that tone; he’d heard it time and time again, thinking it to be something completely different, something completely not there.

_Friend._

No—

_Slave._

And Vader suddenly had a feeling that if kept his daughter—his _world_ —close, she would hear it, too...

Sidious drawled, “Something most _interesting_ has happened.”

Vader said nothing, just stewed and shielded and feigned intrigue. Because he was still thinking. Lost in Bail’s traitorous words. Lost within his own head. Slowly tripping. Slowly seeing…

…the truth. The _real_ truth— _Bail’s truth._

A frown spread across Sidious’s face, stretching his crinkled skin until it pooled unpleasantly above his lips. He reached out without moving and Vader felt a wretched probe attack one of his many shields. It barreled and assaulted and finally broke through—just barely, because that’s all Vader would allow, that’s all he _could_ allow as his thoughts filtered through treason—and finally retracted when it got what it wanted.

Sidious steepled his fingers underneath his shriveled nose. “You’re distracted, my friend,” he said, still frowning. “And you’ve been away.” A pause. “For what purpose?”

Vader looked up, but refused to respond. He let that known with a threatening flicker in the dark.

“Ah,” Sidious said, smiling now. “So cryptic, as usual.” Another pause. “Well. While you were away—” _Not doing your job_ was very much implied _. “_ —a threat has unveiled itself.”

Still, nothing. Still, smiling.

“I’m afraid he or she has caused some _disastrous_ inconveniences.” Another pause. “Though, we should recover soon enough, assuming you’re done with…whatever you were doing.”

Vader was not, and he never would be. Leia would be his new passion, his new focus. But he kept that thought hidden away from Sidious’s second probe.

“What is thy bidding?” he ground out as he bolstered his shields. Again.

The probe retreated and Sidious’s smile grew and grew until it nearly cleaved his face in two. “Always so impatient,” he said, tutting.

Silence descended.

Then, “It seems somebody has attacked and killed my good friend Jabba the Hutt.”

Vader tensed.

Sidious noticed—Vader _felt_ it—but continued like he hadn’t. “They also killed everybody in his little…hovel. I’m told no one was spared, not even the slaves or defenseless musicians. It’s quite a horrible predicament for the Empire, considering the Hutt’s vast knowledge of the galaxy’s seedy underbelly. And let’s not forget their extensive network of shipping routes connecting the Outer Rim.”

Silence.

Sidious glared. Anger whirled off him in frothy waves, but it wasn’t directed at anybody in the room; it coiled out and beyond, searching the deep abyss of space before retracting. “And the Rebels have already started to take advantage of the situation. They’re moving in on our territory in droves, targeting specific locations first, to make their _insignificant_ impact last.”

His wrinkled face softened. Slightly. “Though, I’m sure we should be able to squelch them quickly enough.” A pause. A crinkle of an almost non-existent brow; a telltale sign of a direct order. “Lord Vader, I want you to go to the Outer Rim and secure the Empire’s might. Bribe who you must, kill those not worth saving, but get it done. Now.”

“Yes, my master.” Vader stood and turned. He strode across the room at his usual pace, eager to return to Leia and thankful that his audience had been short and without much strife—

Until Sidious hummed out a sigh, unlike him.

Vader stopped, slightly intrigued, and turned.

Sidious smiled. Again. His golden eyes glittered with knowledge that only he knew. “It’s such a shame to hear about Jabba’s untimely passing,” he said, waving one pressed sleeve through the air before resting it on the armrest of his throne, “especially since I’d just hired him to find something for me. Something that I’m sure you would’ve very much appreciated.”

Vader stiffened. Stopped breathing.

He.

Had.

_What?_

“But I suppose she’s dead, too. So it’s of no consequence, like it didn’t even happen.” Sidious stretched out with his hand, then the Force, searching, tearing, _ripping._ “Unless,” he said, standing, concentrating. “Unless you’re _hiding_ something from me. _Someone,_ perhaps? Hmm?”

Lightning filled the void between _master_ and _slave._ Sidious had known where he had been. Had known what he had done and who he had rescued, and he was punishing him for his actions, punishing him for his silent disobedience the same way a _master_ disciplined a defiant _slave_.

_Crackle-crack-crackle!_

Vader tried to avoid the blow, but wasn’t fast enough to evade the unpredictable arcs of raw energy flying free from Sidious’s fingertips. The lightning struck true and _burned._ It raced up and down his body, searing through artificial nerves and frying electronic mechanisms. It sent his limbs into an uncontrollable uproar as they tried to combat the spider-webbed trails of light with useless swipes and kicks.

After a full minute of brutality, his prosthetics eventually stopped flailing and he fell to his knees with an extra loud _thunk._ The energy had disappeared, but tiny traces continued deep into his prosthetics; they twitched minutely against his will and the effort to subdue them proved more exhausting than helpful. He eventually stopped trying to fight them and simply dealt with the inconsistent spasms, instead.

Vader looked up.

Sidious’s eyes didn’t look gold anymore. They looked a sickly yellow. A merciless yellow. “Stealing her from Jabba? Killing that wretched slug and his patrons and disrupting my rule in the Outer Rim? How could you be so _stupid_?!”

Another arc, this one just as wild and wicked as before.

But this time, Vader was ready, he was prepared. He withdrew his saber with still-twitching fingers and stabbed the air. He _just barely_ caught the chirping tendrils within the hum of his blade and went to one convulsing knee as he fought against them.

Lightning still neared. Steady. Dangerous. And Sidious screamed, “ _Everything_ happens in this galaxy because I _allow_ it! _I own it!_ ” Then sent another bolt—then two— careening across the room.

Vader slashed and slashed, but some of the electricity evaded his twitch-filled defenses and poured through. It rippled through his suit and clamped things that weren’t meant to clamp; it sprung and leapt and activated mechanisms even though he hadn’t prompted them—

His mechanical limbs flailed once more, useless, until _something_ was triggered. Everything suddenly stopped and—

He _screamed—_ in pain, in agony—as lightning ripped through every nerve, muscle, and bone in his body.

Sidious laughed as he had his fun. “Now—”

One final tendril raced up Vader’s flesh, burning long-destroyed skin beneath leather and metal. It sent horrible scents into his mask until it nearly suffocated him. Smothered him. Then the filter mercifully activated and he gasped, gagged.

The smog in his helmet cleared, but he could still smell scorched skin and fried electronics, evidence of Sidious’s punishment, of the damage done to his suit and body.

“—you will bring me the girl and we will evaluate her usefulness.”

Vader didn’t move. Couldn’t move. But he knew he had to, because he couldn’t disobey his master, couldn’t retaliate in the slightest.

He stood. Slowly.

And Bail’s voice once again assaulted his psyche…

_We only did it to protect her…From you. From the Emperor. From anybody who wanted to use her._

He managed to steal a clean breath.

_Use her._

And he knew he couldn’t submit to Sidious’s demands.

He…couldn’t allow Sidious to have her. Couldn’t allow Leia to be manipulated or used. Couldn’t allow her to experience the same pain he had suffered from—and was suffering in. He wanted to protect her, cherish her. _Love_ her. Give her a future filled with smiles and affection. Filled with all the things she loved and dared to dream about.

His leather-covered fists clenched. Tight.

He’d made a decision.

“No,” he snapped, resolute. Standing firm. “No. I will _not.”_

Sidious _cackled—_ at what, Vader didn’t know—and threw another bolt.

Vader was prepared for it—was expecting it. He used the Force to steady his spasming limbs and reached out and caught the wicked burst in the palm of his hand. Then he sent it flying to the window on the other side of the room.

The blood red curtains lit up like a celebratory flame on Empire Day—the day Padmé’d _died_ , Leia’s _birthday_ —and flooded the room with a sickening haze.

Sidious stood on his daises, regal and unmoving, but still chuckling. Still filling the air with his mindless chitter. “It’s a shame, my friend,” he said, eyes slit and watering from laughter and smoke, “such a shame that you’ve _finally_ shown where your true loyalties lie. But—” There was a pause, so deliberate and menacing that for once Vader almost found himself begging for his master’s froggy voice to assault the smoky air, “—it doesn’t matter. She’s already here. Already waiting…”

_No._

The doors behind Sidious’s daises erupted, and a blob of red, blue, and white marched in. Imperial guards, Bail, and Leia—the latter of which were struggling under the grip of several thoroughly-armored bodies. They punched and kicked and reached for one another; Leia was crying, Bail was shouting. Cursing. And they both paused when they were thrown before Sidious’s throne.

“Y-your Majesty.” Bail bowed his head and reached for Leia at the same time. He pulled her close and she burrowed into his shirt and jacket. His hands fidgeted against her back—he was scared, _terrified—_ and it was clear that he didn’t understand why he and his daughter had been so violently summoned. His eyes searched the floor, then swiped left and right before catching Vader’s gaze.

Confusion and dread rippled off him in thick waves, and Sidious smiled.

“What a delightful treat,” Sidious drawled as he returned to his throne. He sat and steepled his fingers across his mouth. Looked down on Bail and the cowering child in the man’s arms. Then his eyes glittered that sickening yellow hue that meant _no mercy_. At Bail. At Leia.

The Imperial Troopers returned to their posts outside the room, and Vader’s limbs twitched against his will as he tried to step toward his daughter. Sidious’s gaze darted to him for a second, and he found himself unable to move. Frozen still via the Force and a myriad of malfunctioning electronic components.

He fumed. And tried his damnedest to fight against Sidious’s control.

But he wasn’t strong enough in his lightning-weakened state and couldn’t move. Couldn’t even lurch a measly _inch_ forward. And after several failed attempts, he reigned himself in and tried to fix whatever he could while his master’s attention drew elsewhere. To Bail. To Leia.

Sidious smiled. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Princess Leia.” A pause. “It took me a while to find you…but here you are.”

Leia whimpered and dug deeper into her adoptive father’s shirt. Bail clenched her back harder and harder, pressing her tighter and tighter against his front. His fists still shook. His body still quivered.

“So,” Bail’s voice was a trembling whine and he looked up with tears in his red-rimmed, brown eyes. “It-it was y-you. All this time…it was you.” There was a pause. A horrified, reflexive pause. “ _Why?”_

A chuckle. “You’ve been a decent father, Senator. A caring, protective, nurturing father…but that didn’t suit my needs. Not anymore, at least.”

“ _What?”_

“You see—” Sidious’s steepled fingers broke away from his face and he stretched out one wrinkled hand. He pulled without getting up—

And ripped Leia from Bail’s grasp.

“ _Leia!”_

Leia screamed a high-pitched, breathy wail, and Bail stumbled to his feet, stretching for her, reaching for her. He couldn’t get close, and she flailed in midair, tiny arms and legs fighting everything and nothing as she struggled against Sidious’s practiced, Force-strengthened hold.

“ _Leia!”_

She writhed, but wasn’t technically in pain. She was still panicked, though, was still crying. And she grasped hold of their bond and let her panic known, loud and clear. _Help! Help! Help!_

Vader was _trying_. He was. _He was!_ But no matter what he did, no matter how he did it, it wasn’t fast enough—didn’t do enough. His fingers remained still. His arms and legs remained locked. But he wouldn’t give up—couldn’t give up. And after milliseconds that felt like _hours,_ he finally managed to clench one fist.

He clenched tighter and tighter and _reached._ For Leia. For Bail.

But Sidious was there.

He was there and smiling and _waiting._ And Vader’s feeble attempt to help his daughter and her adoptive father went up in smoke as he was violently pushed away both mentally _and_ physically.

Leia shrieked, “ _Papa!”_

And when Vader looked up, he expected to see Bail in pain, in agony…but he wasn’t.

It took Vader a few moments to realize that Leia’s panic hadn’t been directed _at_ him, but _for_ him, and he could do nothing but _stare._

She’d called him…Papa.

She’d called Padmé…Mama.

She knew. _She knew._

He hadn’t told her, but she’d found out anyway. He hadn’t told her, but she’d felt it ring true in their bond and connected the pieces on her own.

Sidious chuckled and pulled Leia closer. He used the Force to mute her screams and continued his speech like nothing had happened. “You see,” he said, still laughing, still chittering, “your father had done _such_ a good job raising you, that you didn’t know the dark. You didn’t know pain or fear or loss. And now—” A pause. “—now, _you do_.”

He reached out with one withered hand and pinched Leia’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger. Smiled. “And that’s what I needed, my sweet. I needed you to experience all those things. I needed you to embrace the darkness deep within. So I hired Jabba’s crew to take you. To hurt you. Just a little bit, of course. Just a tad. And it all worked _so well._ ”

His yellow eyes narrowed and his hold tightened. Tears ran down Leia’s face and pain rippled through the Force, screaming. _No! No! NO!_

“Even after your pathetic father got my apprentice involved, you succumbed to the dark.” Leia’s lips opened and she tried to cry, but no sounds came out. “I’m so _proud_ of you, my sweet. So, _so_ proud.”

“Let go of her!”

Sidious’s eyes flicked to Bail. He sneered. “You’ve _finally_ exhausted your usefulness, Senator.”

A withered hand soared high and lightning crackled through the air with sickening chirps. Bail twisted and thrashed as it poured through him—screaming as it raced through his muscles, skin, and bones—then collapsed to the floor in a haphazard heap before becoming unnaturally still. Life drained out of him. Life shriveled away from him and into the Force—

And Leia finally got a word out. “ _Daddy!”_

Her gift responded and the darkness drew close, so thick and powerful and _raw._ It wrapped around Bail and managed to sustain him, then lashed out at Sidious and struck true.

Sidious cackled, “ _Yes, my sweet! YES!”_ while he batted Leia’s invisible tendrils away like they were nothing.

He’d been attacked, but his smile remained bright and maddening. “Such power!” he said with a laugh. “Such talent! So _raw!_ ”

He cupped Leia’s face with two hands and she lashed out, again and again, to no avail. He took every untrained attack in stride until he grew annoyed, then retaliated.

A probe raced across the small stretch between them and Leia’s eyes widened in horror until they clenched tight as she fought against him. She flailed and _screeched,_ then fell cryptically silent and unmoving.

Vader screamed, “ _Leia!”_

Sidious’s eyes flicked to him, feral and delighted. He dropped Leia onto the ground with an unceremonious _thump_ and stood. “Your betrayal was foretold to me, you know,” he said. Like it mattered, like _anything_ mattered beyond Leia being alive and breathing. Still conscious.

Sidious took a calm step, hands sprawled overtop his waist like he was trying to seek balance as he descended the stairs. “I saw your betrayal play out the very moment Kenobi bested you in combat. It was inevitable, unavoidable. Be it with your sniveling daughter…or pesky son.”

_Son?_

“Ah, so Organa didn’t tell you.” How could that smile _keep growing?_ “Congratulations, my friend. You’re a father, twice over. Of twins, to be exact.”

_Twins?_

Padmé’d been carrying _twins?_

“But they _weaken_ you, Lord Vader. The twins—your wife. They weaken you, make you soft and malleable and _distract_ you from our goal.”

Another tread. “So I thought it best to eliminate those distractions. First, with Amidala. Then, with your children.”

He had… _what?_

“People don’t just _slip away,_ ” Sidious drawled, waving one cloaked arm. “They die from their wounds…or succumb to the will of others. _My_ will, usually.”

“What’re you—” Vader couldn’t help but pant. “What’re you _saying_?”

Sidious couldn’t have…

He couldn’t have!

Not after everything Vader had done. Not after everything he’d thrown away for him.

Padmé was the _only_ reason why he'd submitted to the dark. The _only_ reason he’d slaughtered his brethren and laid waste to their temples. The _only_ reason he continued to embrace the darkness, to live in its life-sucking clutches.

Bail’s voice assaulted him. Destroyed him over and over and over again…

_You mean when a solitary man **manipulated** you and turned you against everything you held dear—everyone you held dear? Forced you to believe he was your only friend—that you were all alone when you clearly **weren’t** —then slay all that you had loved and all that you might hope to love?_

Why…hadn’t he…seen…?

Sidious’s smile dimmed. His eyes grew a more merciless yellow. “ _I_ killed your wife. _I_ split up your pathetic brats and tore them away from you.”

Time stood still and Vader couldn’t breathe. Nothing made sense. _Nothing made sense._ Everything toiled through his head in sporadic bursts and he could only come up with one word: “How?”

Sidious frowned and took another step down the stairs. “Did you think I showed you _everything_ I knew? I told you that Darth Plagueis was able to _create_ life.” Another step. “So I expanded on that and learned how to _take it—”_

Vader lurched forward with all the strength he could muster. Snarled, “ _No!”_ And swiped out his arms despite their mechanical hindrance.

Sidious didn’t even flinch backward. No, he smiled once more, then tutted. “Always so impatient, my friend. Always so weak. But it’s okay,” he said, “because you won’t be around for much longer.”

“ _No!”_

It was all he could say. All he could think. Every word that came out of Sidious’s mouth stabbed him clean through, and all he wanted to do was stand and _throttle_ the poor excuse of a man. Mercilessly. _Violently._ Until Sidious’s lifeform slipped into the Force he cherished so much.

“And don’t worry.” Sidious turned and glanced at Leia’s prone body. “She won’t remember this. _Any of this,”_ he said. “I’ll rip her apart and take away her memories of you and her adoptive parents. Then put her back together, making sure to leave the hate. Making sure to leave the fear and a semblance of loss that she’ll never _quite_ understand. And over time, she’ll make an excellent pupil. The perfect apprentice. My one _true_ heir.”

Sidious started circling, the same way a predator stalked and intimidated its prey. “And when the time is right, I’ll send her to wherever Kenobi and her brother are hiding. I’ll have her _eliminate_ them, as she is destined to do. Then send her for Yoda, wherever he might be…” He stopped. “But first—”

He laughed. Then—

Lightning.

So much lightning that it was inescapable. Unavoidable.

Vader could’ve flinched backward, forward, left, or right, but still, it would’ve been there. Still, it would’ve barreled down and poured through him— _ripped_ through him.

He couldn’t help it—he _screamed._ Loud and deep and filled with so much pain and rage and unbridled hate.

Lightning drenched every component of his suit. It flowed through every mechanism and shorted each one out. But it wasn’t done there. It lingered and amplified, then poured through each piece of him—again and again—until everything started exploding.

First, his right leg went up in a shower of splintering sparks, metal, and durasteel armor. It sounded like a bomb had gone off—looked like a bomb had gone off—and shrapnel flew out in every direction, coating the walls, floor, and his torso with pinpricked-sized gears, nuts, and bolts. Then his left leg followed suite, and more metal went careening across the room.

His left arm started vibrating, warning him that it was next. He flung it around and tried to aim it toward Sidious, but the man merely smirked and watched it explode. Metal springs, rods, and fasteners halted in midair via the Force, and Sidious prepared himself for Vader’s final limb to explode, next.

It shuddered with warning, then—

It stopped.

And Sidious _gasped._

Choking, wheezing, sputtering. His once-smiling mouth wretched open with shock and awe, and he turned, shaking.

And there— _right there_ —was Leia, scrambling onto her feet, arms stretched and grasping. Face scrunched together and _concentrating._

Sidious gurgled, then lightning crashed down all around.

Leia released her invisible hold with a painful wail and brought her twitching arms over her face for protection. Then she tugged on their bond— _Papa! Papa! Papa!—_ and cried as electricity surged through her body.

Sidious’s attack grew strong and vicious—unrelenting—and he snarled, “ _You little—”_

But he didn’t get to finish.

Vader only had one arm left, but he put every single ounce of concentration and focus into it. It moved via the Force and wrapped around his side. It clenched his lightsaber…activated it.

Swiped—

And hurdled through Sidious’s waist with a wet-sounding _swish_.

Surprise. Pain. _Rage._

Emotions exploded through the Force in uncontrollable bursts, and Sidious lurched forward like nothing had happened…

But something very obviously _had,_ because the moment he tried to take a step, his lower half didn’t move. His upper half, however, _did._

It tumbled off his legs with a _squelch,_ and pooled on the floor in an uncoordinated mound. Then his legs fell, unbalanced and unsteady, and he scrambled helplessly on the floor, dying. Panicking.

He managed to crawl until upright, then unleashed his fury.

Lightning blazed blue from his fingertips and fell all around. On Vader. On Leia. On Bail, even unconscious. And both father and daughter shrieked. In pain. In agony.

Vader wanted to close his eyes—wanted to drift away—but Leia’s screams held him steady. Leia’s screams helped him focus.

He couldn’t reach out his arm as lightning arced down and destroyed it, but he could still stretch out with the Force.

And stretch…he _did._

But not to Sidious. And not to Leia, either.

He grasped for Bail and _squeezed_ on the man’s conscious. He willed him to wake up—demanded he stand—and Bail stirred with a terrified jolt, writhing in pain as slivers of lightning attacked his legs.

He heard Leia’s shrieks and wriggled to his knees. Dug into his coat and fumbled amid the chaos. And eventually—after far too many seconds wasted—he drew what Vader had wanted him to draw—his blaster.

He aimed, and—

_Ptcheew! Ptcheew!_

It all stopped.

No more lightning. No more pain. No more screaming.

Sidious collapsed to the floor, not dying, but _dead_ from two smoking holes in his chest and head _._ And everybody slumped, breathless and weak. Debilitated and hoarse.

All of Vader’s limbs were destroyed, but he wriggled across the floor with the stumps that remained. He crawled and crawled and only had one thing on his mind— _Leia. Leia. Leia—_ but she wasn’t responding.

His panic grew— _Leia! Leia! Leia!_ —and only increased when Bail beat him there.

Because Bail gasped as he knelt. Tears prickled his eyes as he fell to the floor, cradling her close. He rocked her back and forth, gasping. Crying.

And Vader needed to keep going. He had to see. _Had to see._

The stairs proved painful, but he ascended them anyway, torso shaking, mind reeling.

He got close, saw what Bail had seen…and cried.

Leia was so small in Bail’s arms. So small and hurt and…and _not breathing._ And Vader wished he had a single arm left so he could hold her. Touch her. Cradle her like the father he desperately wanted to be…

She’d called him…Papa.

_She’d called him Papa._

And suddenly, the only thing he wanted…was to see her with his own eyes.

“B-Bail.” His natural voice echoed in his helmet, strangled and soft, but Bail heard him and looked at him with red-rimmed, tear-sodden eyes. “B-Bail…” He couldn’t gesture. Could barely form the proper words. “Please…”

There was no Force bond. No way to properly articulate what he wanted. But Bail seemed to understand and his gaze flicked from his mask to his destroyed limbs. “That’ll kill you,” he said, croaking out the words between tears.

Vader’s containment suit was already destroyed, limbs shredded off in thick chunks long, long ago. Even the control panel on his chest was disabled, shorted out and exploded during one of Sidious’s many attacks. It was only a matter of time before Coruscant’s airborne bacteria would feast on his raw, decaying flesh and finally finish him off.

He didn’t want to die that way. Didn’t want to die alone and panicking and in pain. And if he had an option, he would’ve rather died with Leia draped over whatever was left of him. Holding her, clutching her however he could as his lifeform slipped into the Force.

“B-Bail…please…”

Bail hesitated, then gently laid Leia onto the ground and reached forward. Clutched onto Vader’s helmet and released the seal.

Compressed air whirled out and Vader took his first natural breath in years. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. Whatever was left of his body hurt. What was one more spurt of pain amid so much else?

Despite the agony of even the smallest movements, he wriggled the final few inches to his daughter and looked at her with his own eyes for the first and last time.

Brown hair. Curly and nearly untamable, like her mother’s. So soft and shiny and bouncy to anyone who could touch it…now dead and unmoving. Frazzled with electricity and unable to grow—unable to live.

Pale skin. Supple and youthful and once filled with a glow that made her look just like an angel…now clammy and ghostly. Destroyed and severely burned in some places. Nearly gone in others. Never to heal, never to scar.

Lips like his, somewhat narrow yet plump, slightly parted…but silent. Still and unmoving. Never to call his name or utter another word.

Deep-set eyes accentuated with heavenly brown irises. Once bright and filled with joy and light, now dull and fixated. Staring at nothing and everything. Motionless. Forevermore.

Even in death, Leia was beautiful. A perfect matrimony of him and his angel in miniature form, and he couldn’t help the tears that poured down his face. Couldn’t help the pain and rage and grief that poured through the Force in sickening waves, undoubtedly pushing Bail back and making him ill.

Leia was gone. After everything they’d done, after everything she’d been through. She was gone. Still. Unable to live whatever life she’d dared dreamed about. Unable to do whatever she was truly destined to do.

And soon, Vader would join her.

His breaths became rasps. His head felt heavy.

He pressed his face against Leia’s—against his daughter’s pale, unmoving cheek—and closed his eyes.

It wouldn’t be long. Would probably only take a few more moments. And he felt himself slipping away…

Slipping far, far away.

Into the dark. Into the dreary, painless nothingness of death—

Before it all stopped.

There was…a light. Something bright and airy and pure. It flickered and flitted and was hard to grasp—hard to reach. But it steadied after a few swipes and bounced with warmth. It felt so… _good._ And Vader didn’t know what to do with it other than search it with a few careful probes.

His dark tendrils latched, its brightness dimmed. It sputtered and threatened to go out and Vader released it before it completely died.

He didn’t know what to do with it. Every little touch—every little jostle—threatened to destroy it. Threatened to suffocate it. And he found himself lost and confused. Not understanding its purpose or presence.

He’d only been with it for a few moments and he wanted give up. He didn’t know what it was or why he was bothering with it, so he shifted away from it. But the very moment he did, it stretched out and touched him.

It felt like happiness, long lost. Like his angel’s sweet kisses and deep embraces. Like the feel of her skin on his and the sound of her voice. It smelled like the flowery scent of her favorite perfume and tasted like chocolate and fruit borne from her lips. It was refreshing. Like a cool glass of water after a hot day. It was comforting. Like fresh milk poured by his mother and served with a heartwarming smile.

It felt like…love.

And he knew what it was.

“Padmé?” He wasn’t sure if he’d said her name aloud or just in his head. It didn’t matter, though, because the moment he said it—

She appeared.

As did his mother. As did so many others he’d lost or killed through his many years as a Jedi and Sith.

They were all waiting for him. All ready for him. And he wanted nothing more than to join them. Nothing more than to be embraced by them.

He took a careful step forward, toward Padmé, his angel, but the moment he got close—

She stopped him.

“You’re not ready.” There were tears in her eyes and he wanted to brush them away. He wanted to cradle her and love her and _feel_ her. But she shrunk back and let her tears fall. “You’re not ready.”

She said it over and over again, crying. Sobbing.

Vader reached out and tried to brush against her. But each time he did, she withered away with a flinch. Unsure of him. Afraid of him.

“Padmé—”

“She needs you,” Padmé whispered as tears flooded her cheeks. “ _They_ need you.”

She turned and the too-bright abyss erupted in screams. Padmé’s screams from so long ago, when she was dying, breathless and weak. When Sidious was stealing her life as she birthed it anew.

“Leia…” Her voice was strained and soft, but so hopeful and proud. “…Luke.”

 _Twins._ She’d been carrying twins. A boy and a girl.

And Vader felt more happiness in one instant than he’d had in more than six years—no, his _entire life._

Padmé smiled when she felt it. Nodded when he amplified it. Then pressed her weaved fingers against his chest and let _something_ pour out.

Light. So much light that it nearly blinded him.

People started disappearing all around and he shrunk back on instinct. Unsure and not ready. But eventually, he succumbed. Because it was her. Because it was _for_ her. Because it was for Leia, his daughter and…and Luke, his son—wherever he may be.

“Angel.” He could feel her slipping away. He could feel her becoming dimmer and dimmer as she pushed herself and everybody else inside, smothering the dark deep inside him.

“There’s light inside you, Anakin.” Her voice grew strangled with each word. “My light. Your mother’s light. All of your friends’ light. And…” She paused. “And Leia’s light, too.” Her lips pressed against his and he closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. Savoring her taste and smell and feel.

They stayed that way for a while. Stayed that way until she was practically gone. And with her last few seconds, she pressed her lips against his ear and whispered, “Use it, Ani. Save her…”

Anakin opened his eyes—his real, human, _blue_ eyes—and took a breath with his strangled lungs.

He jerked back at the sensation of being alive. Jerked back at the thought of their sacrifice—their gift of a few extra moments in the living realm. But he couldn’t reflect on it now, couldn’t thank them now…because Leia was still beneath him, still chilly and unmoving.

He scrambled overtop her. Pressed his cheek against hers once more—

And _pushed._

Light leapt into her body. It leapt into her heart and lungs and soul. It lingered and questioned why it was there, then caught onto something thought lost and _exploded_ into the supernova that was his daughter.

Bail couldn’t feel it—Leia’s light, Leia’s life—and continued crying overtop her waist, head burrowed into the white fabric of her nightdress with hands that kept wringing, wringing, wringing. Until—

Movement.

Not from Bail or Anakin, but from Leia.

And everything suddenly stopped.

Bail stopped crying, Anakin stopped breathing, and Leia—sweet, strong, beautiful Leia—opened her magnificent brown eyes and whispered, “Papa.” Then, “Daddy.”

She smiled, so pure and bright and full of life, and Bail and Anakin both wept overtop her— _for_ her. Happiness abounded, thick and plenty, then slowly slipped into dread when Anakin felt the telltale flickers of Imperial Troopers looming dangerously close from beyond the room.

He looked up, knowing what needed to be done next. “Bail.”

Bail looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and smiled. “Anakin.”

There wasn’t time for…whatever this was, and Anakin knew it. He felt it, and made sure Bail felt it, too.

Bail’s smile fluttered away. “Anakin?”

“You need to take her.” It was all he could think. All he could do. Soldiers were coming in droves and he could feel their lifeforms near closer and closer.

They had to get Leia out of the room. Had to rush her to safety, wherever it may be. And if it meant that he needed to stay behind so she could flee with her adoptive father…then it had to be done.

“You need to take her,” he repeated as he struggled upright without limbs. “Take her and go. Go home. Go to the Rebellion. Go anywhere but here.”

“But…Anakin—”

“Go, Bail. Go _now.”_

The troopers were already so close and getting closer, and Anakin reached out with the Light Side of the Force and barred their entry, desperate to give Bail however long he needed to escape.

Bail collected Leia in his arms. Held her close and looked up. “You can come along, Anakin.”

“No, Bail. I can’t.”

Couldn’t he see? Couldn’t he see that Leia would only be in more pain if he kept her close?

He’d barely known her a week and so much had happened. Kidnapped, tortured, exposed to mass murder— _participated_ in one—stolen again, then tortured _again._ Since the moment they’d met—kriff, since the moment he’d had his first vision of her—she’d been dripping with pain, regret, and sorrow. Frightened, scared, and tempted by the darkness he used to keep near.

And if she stayed with him—if he kept her like he longed to do—she’d keep seeing it. Keep being exposed to it.

“Papa?” Her voice was sweet but scared and she tumbled out of Bail’s arms. She reached out through their bond and steadily probed, silently questioned.

His shields had gone down long ago, and she felt his longing and regret and wanted to soothe his conscious. Help him through his troubles.

It made his decision harder. So, _so_ much harder.

“I will always keep you safe,” he promised with a smile. “And right now, you’re safer with Bail than with me.”

Her eyes scrunched together, not understanding. So unsure and desperate to help him. So he leaned down as best as he could and brushed his lips against her forehead. Kissed her brow and poured every ounce of love he possibly could through their bond.

“I love you.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips sought his cheek. She pecked, sloppy and trembling and frightened, but still so anxious to help in whatever way she could. “I love you, too.”

He didn’t want the moment to end. He didn’t want to let go. He just wanted to hold her forever and ever, no matter what happened around them. No matter if the palace crumbled overtop them. But he knew he had to let go. So he looked at Bail with as much confidence as he could muster…and nodded.

“Leia.” Bail’s arms wrapped around her waist and pried her off. He shuffled her around and managed to stand, then looked down and around, unsure where to go, unsure what to do.

“There’s a ship behind that door.” Anakin nudged his chin in its general direction, panting as high lungs struggled to function. “It’s the Emperor’s emergency vessel, which means you’ll be able to get off Coruscant without being questioned or stopped.”

Bail looked and nodded. “And you, Anakin? What about you?”

He laughed even though it hurt, brittle and broken. “Earlier today, you asked me if Leia could prosper in the Emperor’s Empire.”

Bail hesitated, then nodded.

“In its present state, she can’t. She can’t find happiness or light or love. And she certainly can’t find hope.” He took a breath. It felt like there was fire in his chest, like his entire body was suddenly against him. But there was light in his veins, so pure and bright and loving, and he didn’t care how much it hurt because he had to keep going. For her. For his daughter. “I want to change it, Bail. For Leia. For Padmé. And for my…son.”

“Luke,” Bail whispered as tears prickled his eyes. “His name is Luke.”

_Luke…_

Padmé’d said his name. Had said Luke needed him, too. And Anakin smiled as he tasted his son’s name on his tongue. “Luke,” he said. “For Luke.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell, Anakin,” Bail said, scrambling forward with Leia clasped tight in his arms. “You…you must understand.”

He did. He really, really did. “It’s okay.” He meant every word. “I’ll change things…and I’ll find him—bring him back to me.”

He wanted to believe he would. That he could. But he knew he wouldn’t last. His wife’s gift was already flitting away and he was already struggling so much. Already withering away thanks to Sidious’s merciless attacks.

It wouldn’t be long, now. Wouldn’t be long until he collapsed onto the floor next to the halved corpse that had taken so much from him. He knew it…Bail knew it…

“Anakin—”

“Thank you, Bail.” The fire in his lungs spread, fast and vicious, making him wince as he tried to suppress it. “But you must go,” he panted. “ _Now_.”

There wasn’t time for another pause. Wasn’t time for another nod. And Bail didn’t hesitate after somebody banged on the nearest door, threatening entry.

He sprinted across the room and to the door Anakin had gestured to. Disappeared behind it and prepared the ship for departure.

It whirled but didn’t leave, and Anakin pulled himself up as best he could and looked at the silent chaos around him. The still-burning curtains, the Emperor’s withered body cleaved in two, the lightning-blackened scorch marks and pinpricked-sized metal shrapnel scattered all about. Then him, sitting in the middle of it.

No limbs. Barely a body.

But he needed to be creative with what he had left so Bail had enough time to leave.

Chin up and to the side. He felt more troopers barreling through the halls, footsteps akin to a thunderous roar. Then—

Every door opened at once and several dozen poured through. They had their blasters aimed and ready upon entry, but paused to gaze about. They all stepped forward and stared. At the Emperor. At the mess. Then finally…at him.

They edged closer, but had already missed their chance…

The first wave went down with a few uncoordinated gasps and shrieks, knocked out cold in their bucket-headed armor as they clattered to the floor. Their guns skidded across the cracked marble, alerting the next wave that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong upon their predecessors’ entry.

Anakin prepared himself once more—why wasn’t Bail _leaving_?—and lifted his chin. Focused—

Then immediately brought it down.

There were too many in this wave. Too many…to stand a chance. Force-user or not— _Anakin Skywalker_ or not— _nobody_ would be able to survive the wave that poured through.

Tens, then hundreds.

All with footsteps that sounded like the crackle of pyre-blazing flames against his eardrums.

These troopers didn’t take a moment to inspect the chaos. Didn’t take a moment to check on their beloved Emperor. They just aimed and—

_Ptcheew! Ptcheew! Ptcheew! Ptcheew!_

Tens— _hundreds—_ of bolts. But none of them were aimed…at him. None of them even _hit_ him.

He’d been expecting pain, he’d been expecting torment. All from him, _all from him._ But it came from the soldiers, instead. They shrieked— _screamed—_ as blasts rained down like hellfire, drenching the Force with their terror, agony, and souls.

Anakin…didn’t understand. But when something plowed through the wall—the wall Bail was behind, the wall the Emperor’s ship was behind—he knew. _He knew._

The Emperor’s emergency shuttle slid through the wall’s wreckage, still firing, still plowing. Pillars dissolved, soldiers fell, and Anakin merely stared as the ship landed, crushing the few men that had miraculously evaded the merciless assault.

“What’re you—”

He wheezed, lungs collapsing, and couldn’t finish as Bail jumped out and sprinted through the soldiers he’d slain, paling with every step. He grabbed what was left of Anakin’s arm. Pulled—

And managed to drag him down the stairs and into the shuttle with strength and determination that Anakin didn’t know he had.

“What’re you—”

Another round of coughs and sputters, unable to breathe, unable to think or speak or move. Everything hurt, and he felt his body crumpling from the strain, deteriorating at an alarming rate despite the bright hot light that still poured through his veins.

He closed his eyes—that felt nice—and felt the steel floor rumble below—that felt nice, too. And he welcomed the steadily-creeping nothingness. Expected the sweet embrace of his angel’s loving arms.

But something was there. A voice—a scream. A touch, almost desperate and definitely clenching. “Hold on, Anakin!”

But he didn’t want to anymore. Didn’t want to hold on or keep living. Keep feeling pain all around him and deep within.

He heard the ungodly rasp of a respirator and hated the thought of it. Detested the sound of it.

But then there was something else. Another voice, this one a whisper. Another touch, this one so small and filled with love. “Papa…”

And he’d do anything for her. Anything at all…

…even if it meant being bound to a respirator. Again. Even if it meant delaying an everlasting eternity with his angel. Again.

Because she called him Papa.

She called him—

_Papa._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is my 4th wedding anniversary and my love language is "words of affirmation." So spread the love, give me your grief, and let me know what you thought as a whole. 
> 
> Also, keep in mind that I left the ending very, very open-ended; enough so that I've decided to create a short, Luke-centered sequel of about two or three chapters. That being said, this story has become part one of the "Stole Lights That Shine So Bright" series. Please bookmark or subscribe if you'd like to be alerted when the next piece gets posted.
> 
> All I ask is for a little bit of time to complete my outline and type everything up. Just like with this story, I'd like to have everything done before posting the first chapter, that way I won't get lost or distracted along the way. So, once I finish crocheting my COVID-19 afghan, expect some Luke-loving fluff, Anakin angst, and the Obi-Wan confrontation we all need...and deserve.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written out an entire story before posting before (this is so exciting!). So here we go...update schedule!
> 
> Chapter 2: April 5, 2020  
> Chapter 3: April 12, 2020  
> Chapter 4: April 19, 2020  
> Chapter 5: April 26, 2020  
> Chapter 6: May 3, 2020


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